


Inheritance

by rufeepeach



Series: Inheritance [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Non magic AU, Rumbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 180,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7770511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after leaving town to see the world, a death in the family forces Belle French back to Storybrooke to deal with the estate. Never intending to stay very long, she nevertheless soon finds herself drawn back into old friendships, old dreams, and an old love that’s not as finished as once she had hoped. Belle might be back in her hometown, but after five years away from the wreckage she left behind, is it possible to ever really come home? Rumbelle with heavy side Red Warrior, and some Swanfire and Snowing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Omens and Portents

**Author's Note:**

> So this’d be the massive fic I’ve been teasing for months. It’s complete at 30 chapters and 154,000 words, and will be posted regularly from now on on Tuesdays. So you get a freebie two-for-one this week :D

Game of Thorns was up for sale.

Mr Gold smiled to himself when he saw the sign on his walk home from work: it was about time, after all. Moe French had been dead for over a month, and the shop was starting to look shabby and bleak, its windows boarded up and the rose arbour outside growing out of control. Mr French had grown his plants outside as well as in, and under his patient care the place managed to look at least looked after, if a little overgrown. The oafish man had always claimed that was part of his little shop’s charm: ‘‘More the flowers’ than mine, really” he’d said, when asked.

Once upon a time, Gold had been French’s landlord, and he’d been able to enforce the strict maintenance agreement embedded in the tenancy. Gold missed those days: it had been a moment of madness in which he’d sold the property to the florist outright. Had he known then that Moe would die within half a decade, he’d have been more careful about keeping hold of the deed. 

Now, whomever French had named in his will would be able to sell the property as they chose, and pocket the profit. Gold had his suspicions about who that person could be, although the obvious choice was doubtful. French was unlikely to have left his shop, his pride and joy, to his wilful, unreliable daughter. They had, after all, parted on the absolute worst of terms. Much more likely that it was some old Australian cousin, who would sell the asset remotely, desperate to be rid of what could only be a financial burden.

A seller based abroad would also be unaware of just what he was parting with. It was a lucrative piece of land, with the shop below, the beautiful garden French had kept in back, and the little apartment above for the owner. Big enough, Gold knew, to house a small family in relative comfort. The place was also right on Main Street, and Gold did enjoy the idea of owning the entire block.

A desperate seller would sell fast, and sell cheap. Gold was smiling uncharacteristically broadly as he walked home that evening: there was yet a chance to redeem his past mistake, it seemed. If only all such mistakes could be rectified so neatly. 

He spent the next few days making casual but pointed enquiries into the sale of the French property. He came up against a dead end abnormally fast: the seller was keeping their identity private, and all the correspondence was by email, so the clerk at the office couldn’t even give Gold a gender to work with. He left the office in a poor mood, and wondered if it was too late in the month to go terrorise a few residents for their rent personally. That always seemed to brighten a day.

Of course, the easiest option would be to simply put in a bid, and see if the seller wanted to haggle. That would allow him to draw the person out, if they were shrewd enough to bargain, or even to buy the property outright for a ridiculously low cost, if the seller really wanted a quick sale. 

Unfortunately that would also involve showing his hand. He knew it was likely that once he did word would get out that Mr Gold was once again monopolising poor, innocent Storybrooke. He could do without the angry letters. 

Mayor Mills would then bite back with some spiel about turning it into some thinly veiled public vanity project. Worse still, she could financially back some earnest local business-owner in an attempt to reveal him for the shark he was. Once, Gold hadn’t given a damn about what the town thought of him. How times had changed: with a seven-year-old in the elementary school, he couldn’t risk burdening his son with the weight of his bad reputation. He knew what it was to grow up the child of a man universally despised. 

Still, Gold couldn’t decide what would be worse: having to pay through the nose to prevent Regina Mills from succeeding, or losing and then having to watch whatever business moved in succeed without cutting him into the profit. Either way, it was too soon to express an interest. Better to see if anyone else took the bait first, before making a move himself.

That strategy had served Gold well on many occasions. But then all those times, with any other piece of land, there had been no personal stake. He bought and sold as was financially expedient, and for the most part the real estate was confined in his mind to numbers on a spreadsheet. The French property was a little different, in that regard, and he found it annoyingly difficult to remain impartial. 

There were few places in town that stirred any kind of sentiment or memory in Gold. Unfortunately, the unpleasant, buffoonish old florist hadn’t always lived alone in that house.

Gold was lost in his thought when, upon leaving the estate agents’ Monday afternoon, he decided to skip his afternoon meeting and finish early for the day. The tenant he was supposed to see couldn’t say anything to convince him to grant an extension anyway, so the meeting was for all intents and purposes useless. He could reschedule with no damage done. 

It was the end of the summer, the sun still warm and the leaves only just browning, and it was the last day before the schools started back in session. He shouldn’t be spending it working: even Gold, of all self-confessed workaholics, knew that.

He stopped at the Nolans’ on his way past, and his first genuinely warm smile of the day formed on his face when the door opened. Not for the Nolans themselves: David and Mary Margaret were nice people, he supposed, but they were a little wholesome and self-righteous for his taste, and he knew that the vague dislike was mutual. He ignored both them in the background along with the bite of pain in his leg, and crouched down and opened his arms.

“Papa!” a grinning face with an unruly mop of curly dark hair appeared around the Nolans’ staircase, and Gold suddenly had his arms full of laughing seven-year-old. 

“Hey Bae,” he half-grunted, smiling as he stood, lifting with his legs as he kept hold of the boy even while straightening up, one arm under Bae’s backside, holding the boy over his shoulder. Gold didn’t enjoy exercise – he’d never wanted to lift a heavy thing just for the sake of lifting it – but he knew he must have gotten somewhat fitter just lifting Bae. He’d learned fast how to do so while maintaining his balance on his bad leg. It had been a necessity, since Bae had none of his father’s vertigo and his favourite thing was to be carried.

“Hey Mr Gold!” 

Mary Margaret was washing her dishes, watching the scene, but she wasn’t the one who had spoken. No, from her he’d received only a somewhat wary nod of recognition: the actual greeting came from the small blonde girl stood at his feet.

Emma was perhaps the only evidence Gold could find that the Nolans had ever been worthwhile people. For all their conservatism and self-professed goodness, Emma was a little hooligan – clever, irreverent, and with sticky fingers that Gold appreciated on sheer talent. More than once he’d caught her wearing a necklace or a belt he recognised from his shop that had most definitely not been paid for, and he knew that most of the time his son was her chosen partner in crime.

Gold pretended to be horrified by this behaviour. He also pretended not to slip the pair of them caramels from his pocket as a reward every time he caught them at it. 

This blatant favouritism probably explained why, despite all the precedent set by everyone else in town, Bae’s best friend wasn’t remotely afraid of him. “Hey, Emma,” he replied now, for he’d never seen the use of speaking to children as if they were imbecilic, “How’re you today?”

“I’m good,” she grinned, toothily, displaying proudly the huge gap between her left incisor and right canine. “Mom says the tooth fairy will come tonight!” she announced, and Gold raised an eyebrow at this news.

“The tooth fairy, huh?” he mused, hugging Bae close for a second before planting him back on the ground. “If I were you, and some strange woman was going to come into my room and steal a bit of me, I’d stay up and barter for more money.”

Emma leaned in close, confidentially, and looked from side to side before whispering, “I got dad’s flashlight under my pillow, she won’t get far.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret’s voice came warningly from behind, and she came over and put a hand firmly on her daughter’s shoulder. “Are you taking up Mr Gold’s time?”

“She was just showing me her missing tooth, Mrs Nolan,” Mr Gold told her, smoothly. “They do grow up fast.”

“Yes, they do,” Mary Margaret softened a little – parents tended to do that, Gold found, when the passage of time was pointed out to them – and rested a hand on Emma’s golden head. “Is Bae missing any yet?”

“We tried,” Bae murmured, regretfully. “But they won’t budge.”

Gold looked at his son, his eyes narrowed. “Bae…?”

“Emma’s mom said her tooth would come loose if she tied some string to it and then to a door, and closed the door,” Bae shrugged. “So we did. Nothing.” He sighed, regret clear on his small face, and Gold pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You did tell your daughter that that little trick only works if the tooth is already loose, I hope,” Gold asked Mary Margaret. She looked a little doubtful.

“I thought it was implied,” she stammered, her smooth brow furrowed. “I-“

“Because in my experience, Mrs Nolan, if you tell a child you’ll pay them if they perform a certain task, they tend to try to accomplish it. Especially if it seems as easy as removing one of their bones.”

“Your son is corrupting my daughter,” she accused, wearily and for the hundredth time, but it was a mutter and a weak one at that. They both knew that Emma was the leader of their little band of thieves, and that Bae was if anything the staid, sensible conscience of the pair. How that had happened Gold was sure he didn’t know. It certainly wasn’t genetic. 

“And on that sorry note, I believe we should be going,” he smiled, thinly, with no warmth at all. “Always a pleasure, Mrs Nolan.”

“Have a nice day, Mr Gold,” Mary Margaret retorted, with a civil smile, and closed the door.

Gold was feeling generous that day, and he needed a distraction from the French issue, so he decided to take Bae for ice cream to celebrate the end of the summer vacation.

“You didn’t really try to rip your own tooth out, right son?” he checked, when they were settled in Granny’s, Gold with a cup of coffee and Bae with a heaping chocolate sundae.

“Emma said her mom said the tooth fairy would bring a dollar,” Bae shrugged, seeming a little embarrassed now that his father clearly thought he’d been foolish. Gold was always more than a little pleased – if surprised – to see that his son valued his good opinion so highly. “And I’m saving for roller skates.”

“Emma’s mom is a bit of an idiot,” Gold confided, which drew a giggle from Bae. “And as for roller skates…” he reached into his wallet and pulled out a crisp five dollar bill. “Put this in your savings, and leave your teeth in your head until they’re good and ready, okay?”

“Okay,” Bae beamed and snatched up the money, cramming it into his pocket. “Thanks papa!”

“You’re very welcome, now eat your sundae before it melts.”

Bae grinned and dove into the ice cream headfirst, with inevitable result that most of the confection dripping from his chin rather than in his mouth. Gold watched with a sigh, but it was no use trying to slow his son down. Even eating at half-speed Bae was a messy eater at best.

They spent the late afternoon in the park and the evening watching movies. Gold even allowed Bae ordered-in pizza, a treat for the end of the summer. He knew he was overcompensating: he’d been absent for much of Bae’s summer vacation, leaving his son with the Nolan’s more days than not, and the sale of the French property was dragging up memories he’d rather have had buried. In any case, Bae was ecstatic to spend the evening watching Disney movies and eating pizza with his papa, and that was all that really mattered.

School started the next day, and Gold walked Bae to the bus and saw him sat down with Emma before he walked to the shop. No one ever came to deal or browse before ten anyway, so he could afford to open twenty minutes later than usual. The day was a slow one, in any case, which was a pity: the last thing he wanted was a chance to think. He ended up in the office, poring over files from back when he’d owned the French place, looking for what he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he needed a reminder of why he’d sold it, after all. That decision was one he was unlikely to ever forget.

He didn’t believe he had a copy of the deceased man’s will, and of course he hadn’t been invited to the reading. A day spent searching the town archives’ online database and his own records for that one elusive document came up fruitless, although he was becoming more and more certain of the identity of its sole beneficiary. After all, for all Gold’s hopes of a foreign heir looking to sell fast and move on, Gold knew well that Moe French had broken all but a very few of his ties back home when he’d set up in Storybrooke.

Moe had had ties to just one person, his only family left in the world, despite her glaring flaws. Even that relationship had been strained at best, but it was enough, Gold supposed. It was becoming clear that French had, in his addled later days, decided to leave his shop and his home – her home – to her upon his death. The answer had been obvious days ago, but Gold had managed to convince himself otherwise. Gold was an excellent liar, but he’d never been able to buy his own bullshit for very long.

Belle French was selling Game of Thorns, and she hadn’t even come home in person to do it.

Honestly, Gold had been surprised – and relieved, and disappointed, and crushed, all at once – to see that she hadn’t even been at the funeral a week ago. Of course he hadn’t looked for her: he’d been too busy trying to work out the legal state of Moe’s business to do something so sentimental as seek out an old flame. But he thought he would have seen her there, if she had been. She’d always been an emotional girl, and fond of her useless father, at least until she’d burned all her bridges and flamed out of town. He would have expected her to read the eulogy, but she had been nowhere to be seen 

Gold supposed that if Miss French was cold and callous enough to have skipped her own father’s funeral, then she probably had also elected to sell her childhood home from a thousand miles away. It certainly sounded like her. He wondered where she was now: Paris perhaps, or Rome, or somewhere even further afield, hiking in the Himalayas or eating sushi in Tokyo. Wherever she had set up camp, it was doubtless somewhere adventurous and stylish, and a million miles from dreary little Storybrooke. 

He shoved the French file to the back of the cabinet, next to Ziegler, and started on inventory instead. He tried to leave his bitterness and his memories there with it, and let them rot where they belonged.

The next few days passed in similar fashion: he spent as much time as he could with Bae outside school hours, and focused on reorganising his shop during the day. By Friday, the shop was cleaner and tidier than it had been in a decade, and Gold had run out of places to hide. 

He gratefully picked Bae up from school that afternoon, but was surprised when his son didn’t automatically follow him home. “What’s up, Bae?”

“Emma’s having a sleepover tonight,” Bae told him, hope written all over his little face. “She’s invited me and says she won’t have it if I’m not there. That’s ‘cause her mom made her invite Lily and Roland as well, so it’s kind of a party and I’m her best friend so can I go? Can I _please_?”

Bae had stayed over with Emma the odd night here and there during the summer, and while Gold didn’t enjoy having his son not at home at night, he knew the Nolans to be excellent caretakers. They called with updates when the kids went to sleep, and the one time Bae had skinned a knee on their stairs they’d called right away and patched him up perfectly, so he knew his son was safe in their care. And despite his self-confessed selfishness, his animosity toward the whole world, and his overwhelming protective urge, he wouldn’t deny his son his friends.

“Okay, I’ll walk you round there,” he conceded, sighing. “But you make sure and call me before you sleep, okay? I don’t want you partying all night and coming home exhausted.”

“Okay papa,” Bae agreed, happily. “You won’t be too grumpy with me gone, right?” he checked. Gold was always taken aback by his son’s perceptiveness, but then it was hard to hide a whole town’s animosity from a clever child. No one was exactly subtle in their dislike of Bae’s father, after all.

“I promise I’ll only bite people if they really deserve it,” Gold said. “How’s that?”

He bared his teeth jokingly at Bae and growled, and then snapped them, and Bae giggled and did the same. They’d done that since Bae was very small, since his babyhood in fact. She had once laughed at them, lights dancing in her eyes, and called them her ‘papa croc and baby croc’. Gold winced at the memory. 

He left Bae with David and Mary Margaret, who promised once again to call if anything happened, and he kept his cell phone on as he walked home alone. The house was unusually silent without a small boy charging around, and Gold found he’d lost his taste for eating dinner alone around the time he’d started raising a child. He was well aware that the only reason he wasn’t lonely was because he had Bae, and that he was overwhelmingly lucky that Bae seemed to love him as much as he did. The moment the boy was old enough to see what a selfish villain his father was would be the moment Gold would have to get used to silent dinners again.

It hadn’t bothered him much in recent years, when it was only the odd night here and there. But tonight, for reasons so obvious they were cliché, there were ghosts running around Gold’s home, and he couldn’t sit still.

Eventually, he realised that spending the evening alone in his house was a poor idea, and upon receiving a call at around nine to tell him that his boy was safe and sound asleep, he no longer needed to be on call. He had two options: to drink alone in his home, or to drink alone surrounded by strangers.

He chose the latter. The Rabbit Hole was a fifteen-minute walk if he took the fastest route, but instead he added five minutes, and took a stroll along Main Street. 

Gold paused for only a moment outside Game of Thorns, and tried not to remember other nights, dark and warm as this one, when he hadn’t walked alone. Back then the windows had been open, full of light; the flowers in the front had been well tended, and he’d been bidden goodnight with a passionate kiss before walking the last few blocks home alone. Back then things had been different, but he had no illusions that he’d been somehow some kinder, more selfless version of himself. The house had been brighter and warmer and so had Gold’s world, but Gold himself had always been cold and dark.

He paused for only a moment, ruminating on how everything had ended up as dark as he was, when he saw a flash in one of the windows. It was small, a brief flicker of light in the ocean of darkness that was the boarded up façade, but he knew what he’d seen, and then saw it again. Someone had broken in, and was likely rifling through French’s unclaimed possessions, looting and lowering the property value as he went.

Gold, armed with his cane and wound tight from a week of emotional origami, was more than ready to make any burglar wish he’d just called 911 and turned himself in. 

He strode quickly around to the back of the house, and hoped that French had forgotten to mention to his executor that he always left a spare key under the mat. How Gold knew that didn’t bear dwelling on, but thankfully the florist had been both predictable and doltish to his dying day: the key was still there.

Gold let himself in the back door slowly, and wished for a moment that he’d brought his gun out with him. Engaging a potentially armed looter suddenly seemed like utter lunacy. But the man could be gone by the time Sheriff Humbert arrived, and there were things in this house worth keeping safe for their rightful owner. The thought of some stranger desecrating Belle’s childhood bedroom was more than he could bear, despite how inappropriate it was to care about such things. She hadn’t laid any claim to it for half a decade, after all: surely anything of value, sentimental or monetary, was long gone. 

And it wasn’t as if it was any of his concern, in any case.

A creak upstairs told him the intruder was in one of the bedrooms – Moe’s, Gold thought, since it sounded like it came from directly above. He crept up the stairs, cane ready to brain anyone who came near him, and rounded the corner into the bedroom. A small lantern cast shadows across the floor, and someone was muttering under their breath.

“Now, dearie,” he snarled, before he actually saw the person’s face, “If you don’t wish for me to call the police, I’d suggest-“

He stopped, cut off in midsentence by pure shock, as his jaw all but hit the floor. The figure on the floor was devouring of a small pot of cheap yoghurt with a disposable plastic spoon, and her hunched little figure, her hair spilling down around her pale face, and even her chipped nail varnish, were all suddenly horribly familiar. 

Belle pulled back her heavy parka hood, and her eyes widened with shock and recognition.

“Cam?”


	2. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it isn't obvious, italics are flashbacks.

_“Belle French.” Mr Gold’s eyes slid up from Belle’s resume to her face, his eyebrow raised. “The florist’s daughter, yes? I seem to remember a resentful teenager growling when I came for the rent.”_

_Belle flushed, and resisted the urge to glare at him: he was trying to intimidate her, to put her on the back foot. He wouldn’t succeed. He wasn’t the only employer in town, and she was only applying for this job because she didn’t want to put Granny out by asking her to employ more waitresses than she actually needed. He was also offering far more than Granny could afford to pay. Belle would suffer his grumpiness for twenty dollars per hour. Nothing could be worse than slaving for Moe in the flower shop full time._

_“That was a long time ago,” she said, her chin and pride held high. “As you can see from my resume I’m a college graduate now.” He could be snide all he wanted about her attitude as a teenager: Belle was twenty-three now and more_ _than capable of standing her ground._

_“Indeed,” he pursed his lips, “and with a masters in library and archival studies, I see. You don’t feel the written word is a dying art?”_

_She felt her hackles rise, but then saw the gleam in his eyes, the challenge. He was testing her, she realised with sudden clarity, feeling her out. It made sense, she supposed: he wasn’t known for his geniality or good humour, and for someone to spend as much time in his home as a full-time nanny would require he wouldn’t want someone easily frightened._

_“Says the man with a store full of ancient antiques,” she retorted. “There’s a lot of call these days for gramophones and spinning wheels, then?”_

_“Touché,” he smirked, but it was closer to a real smile, and Belle felt an odd flush of pride at having amused him. The smile eased some of the severity from his face, and she wondered for just a moment whether – in a private moment with his adorable baby son, perhaps – he would relax completely. She imagined he’d even be handsome, in such an event. “You’ve no experience with childcare, however,” he continued, all business. “How am I to trust you with an infant?”_

_“I actually babysat for a couple down my road through college, a couple nights a week,” she explained. “I didn’t put it down there because they didn’t really pay, the mother was one of my lecturers so she mostly mentored me in exchange for childcare. She was actually my adviser through my masters, as well.”_

_“Ah, then that’s a rookie error there, Miss French,” Mr Gold chided. “One should always tailor one’s resume to suit the job on offer.”_

_“I’ll bear that in mind,” Belle said. “Listen, I promise I’ll do a good job. I’m really good with kids, and-“_

_“Oh I don’t doubt you’d do quite fine, dearie,” he waved her words aside. “You’re clearly experienced and well-educated, better so than many of my other applicants. My only question is why you should want such a menial job. Why aren’t you applying for academic librarianships on college campuses? Childcare clearly isn’t your ambition, and I doubt you have the highest opinion of me as an employer after my run-ins with your father on rent day.”_

_“My ambition isn’t to work for Harvard library: I did a masters because I was offered a scholarship and it kept me away from home for another year. And my dad doesn’t pay on time,” Belle shrugged, the words coming out a little savage, so much so that she saw him blink in surprise. “He’s not a good tenant. I glared when you came by when I was a kid because he would drink a lot after you left, and that meant a bad night for me. I never doubted he deserved the hell you gave him for not paying up.”_

_“My, my, Miss French,” he murmured. “No filial piety here, I see. Are you perhaps seeking this job to annoy dear old dad? You’re a little old for teenage rebellion.”_

_“I want to travel,” she said. “My dad’s got nothing to do with it. He pays me to work in his shop when I have time, and since I’m back living at home while I save up that’s most of the time. But he can’t pay even minimum wage, and I need some real savings, and an excuse to be out for most of the day.”_

_“I see,” he murmured. “And where is it you want to travel to?”_

_“All over the world,” she said, hearing her own voice brighten as she spoke of her dreams. “I’ve got a whole list, I’m going to go everywhere. But for that, I need money to get started. You’re offering above minimum wage, I’m good with kids, and you need someone you can snarl at all you like without them running away.”_

_“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” he smiled, sardonically. “Alright, come by this evening and we’ll work out a contract, and we can see how you get along with Bae.”_

_“Deal,” she beamed, and shook his hand, hope swelling in her chest for the first time since she’d arrived back in Storybrooke. With Mr Gold’s help, she’d save enough to leave this dead-end town and, God willing, never ever come back._

—

Of all the people to discover Belle sleeping rough in her childhood home, Cameron Gold was the last she would have chosen.

“What the _hell_ are you doing in here?” she demanded, when her thoughts reassembled and she could make words again. He was still gaping at her, slack-jawed, and for a moment she held the upper hand.

He recovered himself only moments later. “I saw a light outside,” he explained, his face creased into a defensive frown. “I naturally assumed you were a burglar.” He pursed his lips, and eyed her critically. Belle knew what she looked like, with her heavy parka to keep out the autumn chill, her scuffed boots and her little bag of food beside her sleeping bag. She looked homeless, dirty and penniless compared to him, a proud, distinguished silhouette in his Armani suit. Belle scrabbled to her feet, trying to put some equal footing between them. She didn’t think she succeeded.

“What are you doing here?” he asked then, wrinkling his nose as if she smelled bad. “Don’t tell me you’re _living_ here?”

“I was making my dinner when you interrupted me,” she sniffled, trying for wounded dignity. “So if you’d kindly get lost, I can get back to it.”

“I don’t think so, dearie,” he sneered. “You see, squatters tend to lower the property value of empty buildings, and the longer you remain the deeper a clean this place will need.” She swallowed, hiding her wince at his derision, his mocking malevolence. That was how it was going to be, then: they were strangers again, and he was as much of a bastard as he’d ever been.

“So you are hoping to buy me out,” she murmured, as if it was of no consequence, hiding her hurt behind a wall of indifference. It was a skill she’d learned from him, long ago, and she put it to good use now. “Well, rest assured, you’re wasting your time. I’m not selling my home to _you_ , of all people.” It was surreal, to see him for the first time in half a decade and for their first conversation to be about real estate, of all things, but she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. She was sure any feelings he’d once had for her had withered and died in that cold heart of his long ago.

His lip curled, “We’ll see how long that pride of yours lasts, won’t we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, face growing hot.

“It means that you won’t get a better offer or likely _any_ other offer, and this place is a money pit,” he smiled, thinly, a cruel smile she recognised. Belle had a lot of regrets, and not slapping him stupid every time she saw that smile was high on the list. “And I doubt a… ah… _vagrant_ like yourself would have the funds to keep it up to city code for very long without selling fast.”

Belle bristled, her fists clenching at her sides, face flushing deep red with humiliation and fury alike. “My finances are none of your business, Mr Gold,” she asserted. “Neither are my living arrangements. Leave, now, before I call the sheriff and report you for trespassing.”

“Oh, so you’re hoping to broadcast that you’re living as some homeless squatter in your late father’s empty home?” he raised an eyebrow, and she backed down a little, her reluctance to do just that clear on her face. If she called Graham, Gold would just tell everyone what he’d found when investigating the house, and the thought of that made her feel a little ill.

“Honestly? I was only staying here to avoid you,” she told him, frankly, changing tack and enjoying the way he stumbled a little at that. With clever words, lies and insults and half-truths, Gold could dance circles around the most skilled opponent, but he never failed to balk at blunt-force honesty. “Now that you’ve blundered in here and that hope is ruined, I can go get a room at Granny’s. If you’ll excuse me, I have some packing to do.”

He didn’t leave, but she did all she could to pretend that he had, turning to spill her dinner into the bag she used for garbage, and starting to roll up her sleeping bag.

“You weren’t even at the funeral,” he said, quietly. His tone was so different, small and even a little hurt, that she stopped and closed her eyes, trying not to think it meant anything. “You… you didn’t miss your own father’s funeral for the sake of avoiding me?”

She took a deep breath, and counted to ten before she turned to reply, so that her voice would be measured and not shake. “Yes,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her tone, “I missed my own father’s funeral, the last chance to say goodbye to the man who raised me, because I didn’t want to see my pathetic ex-boyfriend. The whole world, my entire _life_ , revolves _solely_ around my inability to be in the same room as you. I’ve thought of nothing in the past five years except for how little I want to see you, because you matter _that much_ to me.”

“Sarcasm’s all well and good, dearie,” he bit back, but she could see she’d wounded him with her malice, and was grateful for it. “But you didn’t answer the question.”

“I was at the funeral, you arrogant son of a bitch,” she snapped. “I stood at the back, and I said my goodbyes when everyone had left. My relationship with him was… well, you of all people know it was complicated, to say the least. I didn’t feel comfortable speaking at the funeral when there was so much I never said to him personally. You factored literally nowhere into that decision. The ability to avoid you and then get the hell out of dodge was a fringe benefit.”

“Fine,” he replied, voice clipped and taut, his jaw clenched. “I quite get the message, Miss French.”

“Do you, Mr Gold?” she retorted. “I don’t think you do, otherwise you’d have left by now.”

“Very well,” he drew himself up to his full unimpressive height, and nodded stiffly. “Farewell, Miss French,” he said. He left briskly, apparently attempting to get the last word.

“Fuck you too, Mr Gold!” she hurled at his back, and then huffed in frustration when she heard the back door slam. That had hardly been her best comeback.

Still, what could he expect? She’d been stunned to see him again, out of nowhere, and completely caught off guard. She could hardly be expected to be at her verbal sparring best, for all she wanted to cut him until he bled. Metaphorically and physically, if given half a chance.

At least now that it seemed the cat was out of the bag, she could use a little of her savings to get a room with an actual bed. She’d thought she’d only be here for the funeral and then a few days to get her affairs in order, hence her decision to keep a low profile and camp out in the old house. She’d not thought Mayor Mills would have had the place emptied and boarded up so quickly, or that it would be so complicated to get everything sorted.

There were odd bits of her father’s financial records missing, specifically the parts pertaining to his purchase of the shop. It wasn’t strictly necessary to have that information – after all, the deed was in her possession and proved ownership – but she found it odd that there were no mortgage records, no loans, nothing to show how he’d paid for the place. She didn’t know if she owed anything to anyone, if the estate had debts she needed to clear before she could move on.

She knew Mr Gold had owned it, and so had presumably sold it to Moe, but for what reason Belle couldn’t fathom. It must have happened after she’d left Storybrooke, so she didn’t know any of the details. She’d been stunned when she’d found out he even had ownership of the place, not to mention that she had inherited it.

Now it seemed Gold had some seller’s remorse, and wanted to buy it back. Belle wasn’t generally a stubborn or belligerent person, but in his case she’d make an exception: over her dead body would that cruel bastard ever buy her out of her childhood home, however little interest she now had in owning it.

She’d not heard anything about city codes, but she could well believe they existed. Mayor Mills would hardly be happy having a boarded up, abandoned house covered in weeds right on her pristine Main Street. Belle couldn’t imagine how she’d pay to have it cleaned and fixed up, much less pay off the outstanding electricity, gas and water bills. Her savings were meagre at best, and she’d inherited little money from her father.

Belle still had enough for a night at Granny’s though, and if she was lucky the kindly old lady would remember her and not charge her full price. Ruby Lucas had been Belle’s best friend for well over a decade, and her grandmother had always been a friend of Moe’s. Belle had only avoided her thus far for the reason she’d admitted to Gold: she didn’t want her presence in town to be common knowledge. She didn’t want to have to deal with him.

Now it seemed that hope was shot to hell. Belle gathered her things as fast as she could, threw it all into her backpack, and set off for the inn.

The moment she was through the door, Granny came out from behind the counter with a broad smile on her face, “Belle French!” she cried, delighted and opening her arms, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

“Hey, Mrs Lucas,” Belle smiled as she was enveloped in a warm hug that still smelled of cinnamon and apple pie, as it always had. She felt unwanted tears spring to her eyes, but she swallowed hard and they didn’t fall.

“I’m so sorry about your father, dear,” Granny said, as she pulled back. “He was a good man. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

“I wish I’d come home earlier,” Belle shrugged, trying to swallow down the tears that suddenly threatened in her eyes. She now realised another reason she’d been avoiding the inn: coming here really did feel like coming home. She’d left Moe and the florist shop happily and never looked back, but she’d missed Granny and Ruby.

It had been sad, empty, and dark in that draughty old house, the home that wasn’t hers anymore. But it at least had fit with a cold cemetery, the rain falling as she said her goodbyes, and the loneliness of feeling now alone in the world. It was different here, where nothing had changed, where things were still warm and kind and ordinary. It felt as if Moe could walk in the door at any moment, demanding she come home early to help with the stock intake. It felt as if five years had been five minutes.

It had felt that way with Gold, too, in its own strange way. In the dark she couldn’t see if he’d aged, if his suits had changed, and she’d been too struck dumb to notice. His voice still sounded the same; his eyes still sparked the same. He still incited the same emotional thunderstorm inside her. That much at least had remained the same, while she had changed so very much.

“I’m sure you do,” Granny agreed, brow furrowed in sympathy. “You need a bed for the night? Oh Lord look at you, you’re skin and bones! Ruby tells me you haven’t settled anywhere, I do hope you’re eating out there on the road.”

“I do need a place to sleep, actually,” Belle nodded. “I can pay-“

“Nonsense!” Granny cried. “You’re an old friend and we have lots of beds, you put your purse away! Now, how about food? I just finished a fresh batch of lasagne if you’d like some? I know it’s late but you really do look like you need a good meal.”

Belle tried not to weep at Granny’s concern: it felt like such a very long time since someone had looked out for her, and while that was by choice, it still felt good right now to have someone take care of her. Especially since she still felt raw from her altercation with Gold, and she hadn’t really felt _capable_ since Ruby had called and told her the bad news.

She was glad she always kept Ruby updated on her phone number and general whereabouts. She’d always thought it a good idea to have someone know where she was, if only because of the stories one always heard about lone women travelling alone and going missing. Belle had never thought she’d get that phone call: Moe had been in good health when she’d left.

A heart attack, they’d said. He’d indulged in too much red meat, too many beers after dinner, and taken too little exercise. It had been quick; he’d been alone.

Belle had cried for days, in that tiny little box-room, too many thousands of miles from home, too far away for any of it to feel real. It felt so wrong: one minute, she was wondering if it wasn’t time to leave Paris and try somewhere else, somewhere warmer and drier, where she could afford more than a tiny room on the very outskirts of the city. She’d been thinking about applying for temp jobs or even going back to the States for a while. Those plans all seemed so small and so selfish, when she knew that while she was idly thinking of moving on, her father was dying in his hospital bed, alone at the end.

Belle had always had the odd plan here and there to come home for a visit, see her dad and her old friends, mend a few broken bridges, maybe collect a few more sentimental bits and pieces from her childhood bedroom. She’d thought she’d do it once she’d settled somewhere, once she had a real place to move those bits and pieces into. Once she’d found somewhere new to call ‘home’, and Storybrooke stopped holding any significance except as another place where she’d spent some time.

But then a year became two, then four, and then half a decade was past and she still couldn’t find anywhere she wanted to settle for more than a few months at a time. So she’d put off coming home, and put it off again. Until one day she’d been her tiny rented room, hanging up her laundry and feeling a little homesick – the irony of that tasted bitter now – and the phone had rung. Her father had died not twenty-four hours earlier, and that plan to someday come home became tomorrow’s flight to Boston.

It hurt, somewhere deep and obscure but important, to feel that homecoming now and to know it wasn’t the same, that it couldn’t be, that all the things that had once been worthwhile about home were now lost to her. Seeing Gold this evening had only reminded her of that.

“Lasagne sounds great, Mrs Lucas,” Belle said at last, and Granny smiled and hugged her again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and ushering her into the small dining room at the back of the inn, in the private part she and Ruby lived in.

“Mrs Lucas now, am I?” the older woman chided, as she bustled into the kitchen and started serving up a plate of lasagne for Belle. “Not too long ago I was Granny to you.”

“I didn’t know if I’d still be welcome,” Belle admitted. “I… I’ve been in town a little while, and I didn’t say anything. I’m really sorry Granny.”

“We knew,” Granny shrugged. “You went to the funeral.”

“I didn’t think anyone had seen me.” Belle remembered Gold’s accusation, how he’d assumed her so callous and so determined to avoid him that she’d miss the funeral altogether. Did five years warp the memory that badly? Or was that what he’d always thought of her?

“You might do well hiding from most people,” Granny shrugged, “but my Ruby’s got the sight of a wolf, and she got it from me. We don’t miss much, and you weren’t stood far from us.”

“You should have said something,” Belle said, even though she knew that at the time she didn’t want them to.

“We assumed you wanted to be left alone,” Granny explained, with a shrug. “Figured you’d come to us if you wanted, leave again if you didn’t. No offense, dear, but we’re all a bit surprised to have you come back at all. We assumed you’d left for good.”

“So did I,” Belle admitted. “I didn’t think…” she sighed, and shook her head, cutting herself off before she could say the words she couldn’t even think. “I just didn’t think.”

“No one ever does,” Granny murmured, sympathy rolling off her in waves. She placed the lasagne in front of Belle and handed her a fork. “Well, you’re here now, that’s what matters. I don’t know how long you plan to be here for, but I’ll tell you one thing, you’re not leaving without a few more pounds of flesh on those skinny bones of yours.” Belle smiled at that, shying away from the knowledge that Granny was right: she was underfed, she didn’t eat regularly or at all well these days, and she did a lot of exercise. She was in the best shape of her life, but she knew she was too thin. She never ate well when she was sad or anxious.

That had always been one thing Moe was good at: he’d always kept cans of soup, yoghurt pots and oatmeal in the house, easy things to eat with little effort, for when she couldn’t face real meals. He’d never questioned her when she ate those around finals, or when her boyfriend dumped her or she fought with a friend, rather than more solid foods.

The lasagne’s delicious smell and Granny’s familiar care overrode most of those feelings now, and Belle was pleased to find she had an appetite. Granny nodded approvingly as she tucked into her first hot, solid meal in two weeks, and Belle was thankful when the old woman went to find Ruby, and left Belle to eat in silence.

Belle would have liked to say she didn’t know why she hadn’t come here sooner, but the answer was plain as day. She’d been afraid, much as she hated to admit to anything short of flawless courage: afraid that word would spread and Gold would come pick a fight. As it turned out, serendipity had answered that for her despite all her efforts. She could have been comfortable for the past week, living with friends, rather than sleeping rough in cold, empty house full of her personal ghosts.

But then, it hadn’t just been Gold she was running from, but all of this as well. This sense of a homecoming gone wrong; this feeling that she’d come back and found everything in ashes, and missed something important by being too stubborn to return sooner.

And, in the end, she’d been terrified of the aching grief settled beneath her ribs, and the inability to think of or speak a word about what she’d lost. She’d hoped to be in town a few days, then be on her way, to lose her grief and along with all her other pains and ills in travel and new friends, drinking and dancing and yet another new horizon. She’d done it before, and she could do it again.

That she was now thirty instead of twenty-five, half a decade of nomadic wandering under her belt and weary of cold nights and empty highways was beside the point. There was nothing of value left for her here.

But she couldn’t leave for good until everything here was sorted: she wanted no loose ends, this time. No open-ended goodbyes, no promises to return, and no reasons to think she ever might. And accomplishing that apparently took more than a few days and a handful of signatures.

She finished the lasagne quickly, and then rose to find Granny. Belle was thankful when she found her making up one of the smaller inn rooms, the one next to Ruby’s permanent bedroom, and to find Ruby there as well.

“Belles!” Ruby squealed as Belle came through the door, bouncing over and hauling her close, hugging her tight. Belle buried her face in Ruby’s shoulder, clinging on hard and not letting go for a long moment. “Ugh, girl I missed you!” Belle nodded, unable to make words happen. Five years since she and her best friend had been in the same room, and Belle couldn’t bear to let go, afraid if she spoke she’d burst into tears.

“I can… stay in here tonight, if you want?” Ruby offered, awkwardly, while Granny tactfully stepped out of the room. “I know we’ve not talked in a while but I thought you might want some company?”

The bed was a double, easily large enough for two people, and suddenly the idea of having a proper conversation, her expression hidden in the dark with an old and trusted friend, deeply appealed.

“If you wouldn’t mind?” Belle hedged, pulling back and wiping her eyes with her hand. “I don’t want to trouble you…”

“These beds are comfier than mine,” Ruby shrugged, bouncing down onto the mattress and crossing her feet as if she’d just been waiting for an invitation to make herself at home. “Granny never scrimps on the customers, just close family.”

Belle laughed at that, startled to hear the sound come out of her own mouth. “Make yourself at home, then,” she teased, and Ruby grinned and settled in.

It was another strange moment, déjà vu gone sideways: Belle relaxed, and laughed at Ruby’s cheeky smile, and the years between them melted away without a word.  

“You’ve got a lot to fill me in on, Belles,” Ruby said. “Like why you’ve been here at least a week and not even called me. Also where you’ve been, what you’ve done, all of that. Did you see lemurs yet?”

Belle smiled and sighed, remembering her friend’s obsession on that subject: she’d been begging Belle for years to make sure her next stop was Madagascar, to find the lemurs. Ruby had been the one person from Storybrooke whom she’d kept contact with, with at least weekly emails and monthly phone calls. That decision had never felt better than right now, with the one person she didn’t feel the need to apologise to for silence.

She pulled her phone out of her bag, and pulled off her boots, settling in next to Ruby on the bed. She was all of a sudden rather grateful to Gold for finding her, even if even thinking of it still felt like rubbing steel wool over an open wound. If he hadn’t, she’d be alone on the floor of her father’s old bedroom, cold and broken and living with ghosts. It was an odd turn of events to find herself suddenly warm, well fed, in a comfortable bed next to an old friend, but a happy one. And happy was something Belle desperately needed right now.

Belle found the photos from a few months back, and handed them to Ruby. “The magazine I freelance for put me in touch with these conservationists in Madagascar,” she said, as Ruby’s eyes widened at the pictures. “They helped pay for me to fly out there and cover their efforts, and they let me hold one of their little friends.” Ruby squealed as she reached the last picture, of Belle grinning with the lemur wound around her neck. “I’ll find a way to take you with me, next time,” Belle promised, “You’re better with a camera than me, after all.”

“We’d be a dream team,” Ruby sighed. “Freewheeling photographer and serious writer, fighting crime and meeting wildlife.”

“You can fight crime,” Belle shrugged, grinning, “I’m more about the wildlife.”

“Yeah, but you gotta make a living,” Ruby laughed, but Belle winced, remembering Gold’s ‘vagrant’ comment again with startling clarity. “Hey, what’s up?” Ruby asked then, concern overtaking her teasing, “I was just kidding, we don’t have to fight crime. We can _do_ crime if you want.”

“No, no,” Belle shook her head, sinking back into the pillows and trying not to succumb to the wave of sadness that had overtaken her. “No I just… I’m just worried about that whole ‘making a living’ thing is all. I mean I freelance but it’s not like I can afford to stay here long, or to keep my dad’s house up to code, or even the goddamn lawyer helping me sell the place.”

“You’ll find a way, Belles,” Ruby assured her, trying to be comforting as she lay down with her and hugged her close. “You always do, you’re so smart.”

There was overwhelming evidence to the contrary on that, Belle thought, but she didn’t argue, needing comfort more than realism right then.

She fell asleep warm and comfortable, spooned up with Ruby and feeling less alone than she had in months, for all her grief and hopelessness, and for all that she couldn’t get Gold’s snide tone and curled lip out of her head.

She didn’t know when she’d stopped thinking of him as Cam and gone back to Mr Gold, but she knew it was long before he’d called her ‘Miss French’ at the house earlier. It was probably around the time she realised he wasn’t coming after her, and that he really did hate her as much as he’d said. It had been easier, she supposed, to remember the angry old landlord who’d bullied everyone in town, and not the sweet, kind, gentle new father whom she’d loved so very, very much.


	3. Irresistible Forces of Nature

Gold was avoiding Granny’s diner. He had been ever since Belle had insinuated she would be staying there.

Ordinarily, it wasn’t much of a hardship to avoid the place: he ate breakfast and dinner at home with Bae every day anyhow, and the boy wasn’t used to eating out often. He made two brown bag lunches come Monday morning, and Bae seemed delighted to have something as simple as lunch in common with his father. At the sight of the boy’s beaming face, Gold felt a stab of guilt: he’d spent the weekend with his son, playing video games at home, walking in the park, watching movies in the evenings. Ordinarily he’d have sent Bae to the Nolans’ place and spent the weekend working, terrorising the town, but these past days he’d felt it best to stay private as much as possible.

Now he realised how rare it was that he spent so much concentrated time with his son, and how much Bae clearly valued that time when it came. That it happened now because of his father’s cowardice rather than his devotion was a rare point of remorse for Gold, and he resolved not to let their relationship slide into neglect again.

The cause of his sudden family time was simple: he was hiding. He wanted to see Belle about as much as she wanted to see him, which, he supposed, was about as much as she wanted to see Satan himself.

He was turning the whole sorry affair around in his head all of Tuesday afternoon, after two weeks had passed and he’d seen no sign of Belle at all. It was as if she’d never returned, and Gold met that feeling with both gratitude and regret.

Gold had never been a man who’d enjoyed surprises. He’d never gambled on anything: the beauty of dealing exclusively in written contracts was that he always knew what was coming. If there was a nasty surprise around the bend, it was always for the poor soul who’d signed his deal, never for Gold himself. He never made a move without already knowing the outcome.

Belle French had always been the exception to that rule. He’d thought that whole sorry business buried years ago, but after their unexpected run-in, Gold was on his guard once more. He wouldn’t be caught unaware again, however mutual their shock had been. He would not stand for her to have the upper hand.

He just had to wait it out, he reasoned. He didn’t worry for her safety: she’d made it abundantly clear that she could more than look after herself. If she wanted to sleep rough then that was her prerogative, and he knew that even if he were inclined to offer, she’d never accept help from him. Not until times got so desperate that she had no other option, at least.

That time would come, Gold was certain of that much. He’d not been bluffing about the city ordinances: the boarded-up windows and overgrown plants in the front yard would only be tolerated for so long before the Mayor would be forced to take action. And that was before one considered the gas, electric and water bills the place must be racking up. French hadn’t been a wealthy man, and his inheritance to his daughter couldn’t last long at all.

The sooner she swallowed that massive pride of hers and allowed him to simply buy her out of the place, the better for all involved. He wondered if she’d even known the place was hers to inherit before now: perhaps if he’d gotten to the executor first, he could have even had Belle paying rent on a property she legally owned, and never had to let her know it had changed hands at all.

He sighed, and shook his head. It was thinking like that that had always gotten him into hot water with her.

Gold was grateful when his watch told him it was three pm, and he could go collect Bae from the bus stop.

Bae was bouncing when Gold found him, a big expectant smile on his face. He wanted something, Gold could tell that right away. God help him, he thought, the day Bae grew old enough to want more than ice cream on the way home from school, and asked for something of real value. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to say no to those huge trusting dark eyes, or that irresistible smile.

“What is it, son?” he asked, after a moment. “Out with it.”

“Can we go to the library on the way home?” Bae asked. It was an odd question, since the place had been closed for over a year, ever since the last librarian had retired. Gold had rather assumed it would stay closed until Mayor Mills could claim the search for a replacement exhausted, and turn the building into something she approved of, like another clothing store or a museum dedicated to her own life.

Gold told his son this, leaving out the criticism of the Mayor’s conduct for the sake of simplicity. Bae shook his head, grinning at the rare sense of knowing more than his omniscient father did. “It’s open now!” he announced, with a strong sense of imparting great and important news. “The new librarian came in today to explain how it’s gonna be open all the time now!”

“Oh,” Gold frowned, “I’m sure that’s lovely, then. But we have plenty of books at home, Bae.”

“But they’re giving out _candy_ today, papa!” Bae whined, and Gold finally understood.

“Oh,” he chuckled, “Are they now?”

“ _Please_ papa?” Bae turned on his most impressive puppy eyes, and Gold, predictably, gave in.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed, taking his son’s small hand in his and starting down the street. Bae whooped and beamed and Gold shook his head, because he’d do an awful lot more than walk a few blocks out of their way home to make his son smile like that.

He stopped outside the library doors, and gave his son a serious look. “Now, there is one condition to this shameless candy stealing, son,” he informed Bae, who blinked at him expectantly. Bae was well used to his father’s ‘conditions’ by now, for Gold believed strongly that parenting worked best when both parties had something to gain.

“What’s the condition, papa?” Bae asked, curiously. Gold smiled.

“You have to check out at least one book,” he told him. “We’ll read it together at bedtimes. And by we, I mean you reading at least some of it while I listen along.”

Bae considered this, but seemed to judge being forced to read before bed worth the free sugar that waited behind the festooned and balloon-covered doors of the library, so he nodded and agreed. Gold formally shook his son’s hand to seal the deal, and knew with absolute certainty that his deal would be honoured. Because Bae also knew, with that same certainty, that if he left with a belly full of sugar and no book to show for it, that he wouldn’t be allowed candy again for a rather long time.

Predictability was important for Gold, in all things, and it bled into his parenting. Bae always knew the cost of a privilege and the price of falling short of his father’s expectations. Gold always felt smug watching parents outside the schoolyard wrangle their disobedient little brats, while his well-behaved, friendly boy trotted happily at his side, hand safely wrapped in Gold’s larger one. He had never expected his son’s respect and good behaviour to come without a price: all things of value did, without fail.

The library was busy when they opened the doors, full of similar groupings of parents and children milling around, the occasional older person or youngster in between. Whomever Regina had hired had clearly lit a fire under the children on their visit to the school, because the place was packed with kids of all ages, along with an assortment of parents, grandparents, and beleaguered older siblings. Bae soon saw a friend across the room, and ran over to join them in the children’s section. Someone had thoughtfully filled the corner with beanbags, soft toys, and one alarmingly large stuffed crocodile, which little Emma Swan seemed to be attempting to wrangle, Steve Erwin-style.

Gold shook his head fondly at her antics, before wincing as Bae piled in to help her. How such a lively little tyke had come from such bland, uninspiring parents as hers Gold would never know.

Mary Margaret was a useful minder though, and she was keeping a close eye on the children, freeing Gold to go check out the meagre classical literature section. His personal collection of first editions surely dwarfed any town library’s attempts, but there was an intriguing collection of classical Greek translations that seemed somewhat out of place in tiny, philistine Storybrooke. He thought it probably hypocritical to force Bae to check out a book and then refuse to do the same, so he chose a very recent edition of Aeschylus’ Oresteia. It was a translation he didn’t recognise that could prove interesting, he reasoned, and he’d always been a fan of Greek tragedy.

He meandered his way to the front desk, behind a queue of predominantly male patrons. From sluggish way the line was moving, Gold gathered that the new librarian was most likely young, female and attractive. He rolled his eyes: there was a reason he didn’t socialise intentionally with the other fathers at Bae’s school.

Gold left the line and went to find Bae, and spent a pleasant half hour watching his son at play and idly reading the first few pages of introduction to the text. The crowds started to disperse, parents taking their children home for dinner, until finally the place was quieter and only a few patrons remained.

Emma and Bae were sat on either side of Mary Margaret, and were poring over a colourfully illustrated version of Snow White. “Do you have a book then, son?” Gold asked, and Bae looked up and beamed at him, red candy staining his milk teeth pink.

“I got an adventure book papa!” he confirmed. “The Lady asked what I liked and I said I liked dragons, so she found me this really cool book and look!” Bae thrust the book in question into Gold’s hands, and it did seem rather up Bae’s alley. The front cover was of a dragon, curled around a sailing ship. “She said you might have to help me though,” Bae continued, a moment later. “The words in it get long sometimes.”

“I can do that,” Gold smiled, thankful to whomever had pointed his boy in the right direction. “I’ll go check this out, okay? Then I’ll come get you and we can go home.”

“’Kay papa,” Bae nodded, and went back to the book in Mary Margaret’s lap, wherein Snow White was falling for the oldest trick in the book and eating fruit presented by a magical stranger.

Gold was smiling to himself and still examining the front of Bae’s new book when he got to the front desk. He handed the books over without looking up, and only when they were rather tersely snatched from his hands did he glance at the librarian.

Then he blanched. Terse didn’t begin to cover the look on her face: Belle was glaring daggers at him, and holding her stamp like a weapon.

“What the _hell_ do you want?” she demanded, and Gold was suddenly glad he’d decided to take his time, and wait for the crowds to disperse. The whole town surely didn’t need to see this little display.

“To check out a couple of books,” Gold replied, raising his eyebrow in an attempt to rise above her animosity. How in God’s name she’d gotten this job was beyond him, but once again she’d surprised him, and once again he was wrong-footed. He’d thought her long gone, or still in hiding, or holed up at Granny’s crying into a pillow, or… well, anywhere but here, in front of him, looking murderous. Belle had always been entirely unpredictable to him, and where once he’d found it charming and refreshing, it was rapidly becoming unpleasant. “What else?

Belle looked at the books in her hands, and then her face suddenly cleared, her scowl becoming something else entirely, soft and regretful, even a little lost. It was unsettling in the extreme, and Gold felt himself falling back on old, old habits, wanting to draw her close and comfort her. But this was a different world they lived in now, and he knew she wouldn’t appreciate comfort coming from him, even if he were inclined to offer it.

“ _Temeraire_ ,” she murmured, running a hand over the book Bae had chosen. “It’s a little… young for you, isn’t it?”

She was prompting something, asking something else behind the innocuous question. She looked around as she did, not at him but behind him, at the children’s area. That lost look only heightened when she set eyes on Bae. She looked miserable, grieving, _heartbroken_. “Of course,” she murmured. “It’s been five years.”

“The book isn’t for me,” Gold confirmed, his tone wavering between sympathy and firm, impersonal irritation. What right did she have to gaze at Bae like some poor lost lamb, too far from the flock? What justification for feeling anything at all, looking at a boy she’d wilfully walked away from without so much as a goodbye?

Gold had thanked God when she was gone that Bae was only two, and too young to remember the sweet, kind, lovely young woman who had made him laugh and kick his little feet just by smiling at him. He couldn’t miss what he’d never known he had, after all, even if such a luxury wasn’t afforded to Gold himself.

\---

_For the first time in weeks, Gold returned to a quiet house._

_Let himself in through the front door, and was greeted warm golden light spilling through from the kitchen and a blissful silence. Bae wasn’t screaming. Bae always screamed, from five to seven there was nothing but screaming in the Gold house. And yet, tonight there was silence._

_He took off his coat and shoes quietly, in case his son was asleep already. Far be it for him to undo Belle’s good work in quietening him down. He came through to the kitchen, and only then could he hear her soft voice, and her footsteps creaking on the hardwood floor._

_“There we go, sweetie,” she murmured, rubbing Bae’s back. She was moving around the kitchen, rocking Bae on her hip, “There we go, shhh…”_

_For a moment, Gold was content just to watch her, to enjoy the image of her cradling his son, his small, curly head rested trustingly on her shoulder. They could have been mother and child, a perfect family. He was so in love with her in that moment he could have died from it, and the thought terrified him. He’d known the girl only a few weeks, and she was half his age, beautiful and bright and adventurous. He had no business loving her, and yet in that moment he did: wholly, completely, and without complaint._

_“Hey,” she whispered over Bae’s head._

_“Hey,” he replied; it was all he could do to say anything at all. She smiled at him as if she was overjoyed to see him,_

_“I worked it out,” she whispered. “He doesn’t like the dusk. He can cope with day or night, but he doesn’t like the in between. That’s why he gets cranky around six pm. So I closed the curtains, and turned on the lights.” Belle grinned, ecstatic and proud of her own ingenuity. “And now look! Quiet as a mouse.”_

_“He was born in the winter,” Gold murmured. “His birthday’s November, and it gets dark very early then. When the sun’s setting it shines bright through the windows. Maybe you could… take him out in the sunshine more? Get him more used to direct sunlight?”_

_Belle beamed, and with that smile she lit up the world. “I’d love to!” she said. “You’d trust me?”_

_Gold gave a half-shrug, “You’re doing a marvellous job, Miss French,” he said, trying to remind himself that she was his employee, that he had no business thinking of her as anything else. However tenderly she cradled his child; however his heart soared to see her smile. “I can’t see why you shouldn’t be taking Bae to the park every now and then, if it’s for his own good.”_

_“I could bring him to the shop sometimes,” she suggested. “Then you could see him on your lunch breaks. I could bring food and make it a picnic.”_

_“I’d like that,” he said, caught and held by the image of her showing up in his store, flushed and lovely and bright in his dingy cave, bringing care and family and light into his dark little world._

_“It’s a date,” she said, and then clamped her lips shut, as if horrified at her own choice of words. “I mean… anyway,” she shook her head and came close, holding his sleeping child out for him to take. “I should get going.”_

_“You can’t stay for dinner?” he asked, suddenly desperate for her to stay, stepping back so she had to hold onto Bae and reposition him at her hip. “You could settle Bae down for the night, while I cook? It’ll save waking him.”_

_“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,” she said, and he could have sworn he saw a little blush rising in her cheeks, a roses blooming on her soft, pale skin._

_“Nonsense,” he replied. “It’s no trouble to make two portions instead of one, and you have done me a great service settling Bae. It’d be a shame to wake him, if you have the time to stay?”_

_“I’d love to,” she breathed, and this time yes, she was blushing. He’d made her blush, with a simple invitation to dine with him. For a moment, foolish and wonderful, he thought that maybe his feelings for her weren’t entirely one-sided._

_She pressed a kiss to the top of Bae’s head, and Gold saw something flash over her face, a look so full of love for the child in her arms that it almost hurt to look. Mila had never looked at Bae that way, but he knew he worn it himself, every night when he tucked his son in to sleep. How could he help but adore this beautiful, kind, thoughtful girl who loved what he loved with all her heart? How could he keep from thinking of her like family, when she looked at his child like that?_

_Belle tucked Bae into bed while Gold made their dinner. He’d intended on reheating soup, but somehow that didn’t seem good enough for Belle, not when she’d just agreed to eat alone with him. He ended up with spaghetti carbonara, and he became so wrapped up in making it perfect for her that he didn’t hear her return until she was by his side._

_“Hey,” she said, as he concentrated on stirring the pasta into the frying egg. “Bae’s down, out like a light.”_

_“Good,” he replied. “Good thing, I was… I was just finishing up.”_

_“It smells amazing,” she said. “Thank you for this, my dinner was going to be something out of a can.”_

_He turned to say something about her being welcome any time, or it being no trouble, at the same moment that she leaned up to kiss his cheek in gratitude. Their mouths collided by accident, and suddenly he was kissing Belle, her lips soft and pliant against his, a soft moan of surprise leaving her as she kissed him._

_He pulled back with his mind full of awkward apologies, but something warm and tentative in her eyes stopped his tongue. He stared at her, his mind scrambling for words, rational thought lost. She was so beautiful, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed, her eyes pleading for something he couldn’t name._

_“Kiss me again?” she breathed, when he didn’t speak. He didn’t need a second invitation._

\---

“He’s gotten big,” Belle murmured, her voice soft and a little choked, all the anger from before lost. “I didn’t even recognise him… I spoke to him and I didn’t know him.”

“Why would you?” Gold asked, “he was only small when you left, and you’ve not seen a picture since.” He shrugged it off as if it was nothing, as if it didn’t matter, as if he wasn’t furious that she could look at Bae and not know him in a moment. It was ridiculous to find fault in that, of all things. Belle wasn’t Bae’s mother, for all that they’d played house for a while, and she’d had no interest in contacting him in the past half decade. It was no surprise that she’d look at a sturdy little seven year old and not instantly know him for the tiny boy, barely out of babyhood, for whom she’d sung lullabies and invented ten ways of serving mushed-up carrot when it was all he deigned to eat.

“I just…” Belle straightened, shook her head, “Never mind.” She stamped the two books quickly, and handed them back.

“Thank you, Miss French,” he said. He was about to say something almost kind to her, about how well she’d refurbished the library or the range of her literature section. But then he caught her eyes straying to Bae again, that lost and yearning look returning. Suddenly, Gold could see with dreadful certainty how kindness to her would play out.

She would creep closer again, like before, and then she’d leave. And while Gold knew who she truly was now and could protect his own heart, Bae was a trusting, friendly child, and he wore his heart on his sleeve. Belle would slip into Bae’s life the way she had before, easily and gently as breathing, and like air she would make herself essential. And then, like the wind, she’d be gone again, and Gold would have to explain to his son where she’d gone and why she never called. He did enough of that with Bae’s biological mother. The last thing Bae needed was another maternal abandonment.

“You know, you’ve cleaned yourself up well,” he said, feigning a friendly smile, running his critical eyes over her. “From here I can hardly tell that you drifted into town to squat in a dead man’s house.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed and sharpened, honing back to Gold the way he’d hoped, and oh it was wonderful to see her cut and bleeding. He’d loved her once with a passion almost holy, and love that strong turned to hate was a powerful weapon indeed.

“My father died, and I came home to look after his estate,” she bit back, clipped and hard. “For you to turn that into something dirty and ugly is a crime I didn’t even think you capable of, but then you always were a foul old bastard.”

“And here I thought we were getting along so well,” Gold’s smile was thin and sharp. “But then, that would imply we were civil adults, and you couldn’t possibly have that, now could you Miss French? Resorting to name-calling already is a little cheap, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t start the name-calling,” she retorted. “You were the one naming me a ‘vagrant’ for wanting to sleep a few nights in my own home.”

“Oh, but that wasn’t an insult, dearie, just a statement of fact,” he corrected her, jabbing a finger in her direction. “You are, after all, a woman with no fixed address, unemployed and living rough in an abandoned building. The legal term for that is vagrancy.”

“As you can see, I have a job,” she snapped back. But then she sighed, her eyes rolling heavenward, her tone changing from anger to resignation. “God help me, for five minutes there I thought you might have grown a soul. But no, you’re still the same cruel old man you were when I left. And you wonder why I never called.”

That hurt: the reminder of her silence, of her disregard of him, of the endless days when he’d waited for some message from her. She had left with almost no warning at all: there and smiling one day, breaking off their relationship in pursuit of her horizon the next. Some days he’d worried she could die, somewhere cold and alone on the road, and he’d never find out that she was gone. Other days he thought of her in some sunlit European bedroom with that leather-clad boyfriend of hers, giggling over the memory of the foolish old man waiting in vain for a postcard. He’d always hoped for the latter, if a choice had to be made: the thought of her miserable, alone, dying somewhere without a friend in the world, made his stomach twist and his heart clench.

Bile rose in his throat. He covered it with a sneer.

“It’s a squalid little place, isn’t it?” Gold retorted, nastily, gesturing to the library. “You must feel right at home. After all, you should be used dank little holes after your travels in the past few years.”

“Oh that was sloppy, did I strike a nerve?” The narrow, mean-spirited smile was out of place on her open, beautiful face, and Gold suddenly wanted more than anything to make it go away, to beg forgiveness, to have the sweet, kind Belle he’d once known return. But that Belle would never come back, because she’d never existed. This was who she’d always been, and before he’d been a pathetic old man in love with a younger woman, blinded by affection. The Belle he had loved so much couldn’t have left them the way she did; the way Mila had before her. She was devoted, endlessly loving and kind and warm. That she could have hidden her cold, selfish heart from him for so long still made him sick.

“I think we can both agree that the sooner you leave town, the better for all of us,” he replied, coldly. “No one wants you here, Miss French, not the friends you abandoned and certainly not me or my son. The only person who might have been glad to see you is now six feet under, so I see no reason for you to linger where you aren’t needed.”

It was a low blow, stunningly harsh and cruel, and Gold watched it land with mechanical precision. Belle staggered, crumpled, and clenched her fists with the desperation of a woman without even her pride to fall back on.

“Get the hell out of my library, Gold,” she said, forcing out the words as if even speaking to him was an effort, before she turned her attention to the little computer on the edge of her desk, and he was banished.

“Gladly,” he muttered, needing to have the last word even if he didn’t have his conscience or any sense of real victory to cling to, and he turned to his son, who was watching with a slightly puzzled expression. “Come on, Bae,” he said, trying and failing to hide his tension, “Time to go now.”

Bae seemed to notice something wrong, because he didn’t question it or beg to be allowed to stay. Gold felt the warm little hand slide into his, and he didn’t nod a goodbye to Belle as they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Belle and Bae meet again, and Belle re-evaluates her priorities.


	4. Priorities

Belle’s head was spinning when she walked home from work that evening.

Kids grew up. She knew that, academically, kids got bigger and older and stopped being babies. She’d just never imagined Bae growing up.

He’d been tiny, only two, the last time she’d seen him. He’d been a toddler, still mostly carried in arms or a stroller, not really talking yet, only just walking properly. When that sturdy, articulate little boy had come over, all dark curls and big eyes, and asked her if she had any adventure stories, she hadn’t thought for a second he could be the same child whose diapers she’d changed.

She’d sung him songs to get him to sleep, ‘My Bonny Lies Over The Ocean’ and ‘Kookaburra’. She’d read him fairy tales because the sound of her voice soothed him, and clapped her hands along with his cartoon theme tunes.

That boy had been the centre of her world for over a year of her life, and yet she’d had a whole conversation with him today about dragons and not recognised him for a moment.

Belle was shaking when she got back to Granny’s. Granny made her a cup of tea and a sandwich without a word. “You look like the world just ended,” she said briskly, at Belle’s grateful look. “Least I can do is make sure you eat.”

“Thank you,” she managed a smile and ate quietly, her stomach somewhat settled by the food. Granny had made it her mission this past week to ensure Belle ate, even when she clearly didn’t want to: especially then, in fact.

Granny nodded, and bustled to the staircase, “Ruby?” she hollered up the stairs.

She was greeted by a “Yeah?” shouted equally loudly back.

“Something happened to Belle!” Granny called, “Come talk to her!”

There was a clacking of heels, thumping down the stairs, and then Belle was consumed by a long-limbed, tight hug. Ruby had caught on pretty fast to how to calm Belle down and make her talk: physical contact and food. Two things Belle had gotten used to living without on the road, and so craved now like nothing else. “What’s up?” Ruby asked, pulling back and pulling up a seat next to her. “Wasn’t today the opening? How’d it go?” Belle didn’t reply, just stared at her food. Ruby’s tone dropped, “Shit, Belle, what happened?”

“Gold happened,” Belle muttered, and stared at the remains of her sandwich. Her appetite was lost at the mention of his name, which was a shame, because Granny’s chicken salad sandwiches were pretty damn good.

Ruby cursed under her breath, “He come after you for your dad’s shop?” she asked, and Belle remembered all of a sudden that her memory of five years ago was different from everyone else’s. She and Gold had kept their romantic relationship almost entirely secret, because Bae was only little and she was fresh out of grad school, and they’d known what people would say. Her father would have gone berserk, a fact proven by how he’d reacted when he’d eventually found out. Neither of them wanted that, so they’d kept it quiet. Even Ruby hadn’t known, and Belle didn’t want to tell her. It was too painful, too private, and too humiliating, especially after today’s nastiness.

“Yeah,” Belle lied – well, it wasn’t totally a lie, because he was out for Game of Thorns even if he hadn’t made an offer yet – “He wants to buy me out.”

“For half what it’s worth, I bet,” Ruby said. “Bastard, he knows that’s your inheritance!”

“Yeah he also knows I can’t afford to just have it sit there, and no one else will top his offer.”

“Y’know, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, we should have set fire to his house when we had the chance.”

“Yeah,” Belle laughed, remembering numerous high school nights spent on Ruby’s bedroom floor, gossiping and planning for the future. Gold had come up a lot, even back then, and Belle had always wondered later if she’d had a crush on him back before college, and just hadn’t been able to admit it to herself. He bullied her father something rotten for the rent, and it wouldn’t have won her any friends to stick up for him. She didn’t really care that he was rude to Moe, but he also bullied Granny and that had upset them both.  
There had been a plan once to coat his porch in gasoline from Billy’s dad’s garage, and set the place ablaze. Belle regretted not following through, now. The arson charges would have sucked but she might have saved herself a lot of pain. He never would have fallen in love with the girl who torched his house, or made her fall in love with him.

Ruby shook her head, “Shame he has a child there now, really. Don’t want to orphan the poor kid.”

At the mention of Bae, Belle’s smile died, and her eyes went back to her plate. “Yeah,” she murmured, “Wouldn’t want to take another parent away from him.”

“His mom ran off, didn’t she?” Ruby frowned. “Not like she died or anything.”

“You know what I mean,” Belle waved a hand, brushing the difference aside. She had heard so little about Bae’s mother even when she’d been part of his life that she couldn’t imagine the other woman being a fixture now. “He’s a cute kid, you know,” she added, cautiously, wondering how close to her real problem she could get without telling Ruby too much. “I met him at the library today. He’s surprisingly bright and sweet for a child raised by such an asshole.”

“Yeah, Granny’s always liked him,” Ruby shrugged. “She likes to point out cute kids to me, as if it’ll make me want one. Like, I thought old people only wanted grandkids? Why are great-grandkids suddenly part of the picture?”

“Maybe she wants a third chance at raising one,” Belle grinned, nudging her friend. “Get it right this time.”

Ruby snorted at that, “Yeah good luck there, with my genetics and my taste in men, any kid I have will be messed up before he’s even out of the womb.” But then she paused, and shook her head, “Well, maybe not. I mean, Gold’s… Gold, and his wife was a bitch too, if I remember… and their kid came out okay.”

“I never met his wife,” Belle mused. It was a point she’d often wondered about, when she’d been sleeping with the woman’s ex-husband and all but raising her child. She’d wondered what she was like, the woman whose photographs had been removed from the mantelpieces, whom Gold never mentioned and Bae had never known. All she knew was her name, Mila, and that she’d left when Bae was only six months old.

“Oh yeah,” Ruby scoffed, “That whole drama. The Golds. There should have been a Lifetime movie made.”

“That bad, huh?” Belle asked, raising an eyebrow. She’d never asked anyone else about Mila before, it had seemed like an invasion of Gold’s privacy, and back then she’d imagined they’d be together long enough for him to share it with her himself, in time. Now, with his declaration that no one wanted her and his articulation of her uselessness still ringing in her ears, Belle couldn’t care less about privacy.

“Oh yeah,” Ruby nodded, the gleam of gossip entering her eyes. “They’d have screaming matches in the diner, and the wife would just, like, hand the kid to me or Granny so she could wave her arms while she did it. And he was just as bad: he’d shout at her in the street, and people would stare but he wouldn’t stop. Bad blood on both sides, Granny used to say. It’s weird his kid turned out as well as he has, really.”

Belle didn’t comment that Gold had been sleepless, exhausted and wrung out and desperately worried about his premature baby. She didn’t say how sweet he’d always been to his son, what a wonderful father she’d always known him be, or how kind he’d been to her as well, until it all fell apart. She didn’t defend him, because she’d have been defending a lie. All of those things had only been true until his paranoia, his self-doubt, and his possessiveness had gotten in the way. He was kind only until he found a reason not to be.

“It’s a mystery,” she said at last. Then she turned back to Ruby with a big, almost genuine smile, changing the subject away from dangerous territory. “How are things with you and Billy anyhow? Is that still a thing?”

“Billy?” Ruby scoffed and waved a perfectly manicured hand. “As if. He’s cute and all but I’m not in high school anymore. I don’t date boys anymore.”

“You date… dogs now?” Belle teased, and Ruby stuck her tongue out in response.

“No, I date men,” Ruby corrected, then pursed her lips, considering. “And y’know, the occasional hot woman, but they’re few and far between in this town.” Belle elbowed her in the ribs, and Ruby snickered, holding her hands up. “Hey, I’m sorry Belles, but you’re out of the running. It’s hard to find someone attractive when you remember their third grade summer pageant disaster. Remember? How you-“

Belle grimaced, “Yes!”

“And then your dad-“

“Yes!”

“And then they had to-“

“Yes, okay, I get it!” Belle held up her hands, trying not to laugh while Ruby giggled at her exasperation. “Can we leave memory lane undisturbed for tonight, please?”

Ruby kept snickering at her, but dutifully changed the subject, and her happy chatter was enough to distract Belle from less cheerful thoughts. Like how she’d missed five years of Bae’s life, and hadn’t even realised it until today. She wasn’t sure how it was possible to love someone that much and then not even recognise them, but kids grew up fast, she supposed.

Belle wasn’t surprised over the next few days that Gold and his son didn’t return with the books. The wide berth they gave her was more than welcome: she could be content the rest of her life without ever seeing Gold again. He was a nasty piece of work, with a sharp tongue that knew just how to cut her where it hurt, and what’s more she was certain he enjoyed drawing blood.

He avoided her around town, too, although she did all she could to keep to herself anyway. He didn’t sniff around her old home anymore, although she did little more than go by every now and then to check the locks. She was paying a man named Leroy who Granny knew to keep an eye on the place and stop it from falling apart. Gold had also stopped eating at Granny’s since her arrival, apparently. This change had not gone unnoticed or unappreciated by Granny, who seemed to care as little for his company as Belle herself did.

Still, it did seem a little childish when he crossed the street to avoid her, despite the sidewalk being clearly wide enough for them to pass comfortably without comment. She was the wounded party, after all: he was the one who’d insulted her, first in her own home and then in her place of business, and who had all but driven her out of town in the first place. Between turning her father against her and attacking her boyfriend, he’d given her every reason to leave and never come back. What right he had, what absolute nerve, to act like such an ass now she had no idea. But then, it was probably just fun for him to torture a recently bereaved and mostly-homeless woman.

Belle was quite content to live quietly for a while. The wages from the library and Granny’s generosity secured her a place to live, and she hoped that if she did a good enough job for the next few months, Mayor Mills might allow her to move into the flat above the library. It really had been a miracle, her complaining to Granny about her apparently useless masters degree in archival studies right when Regina had sat down for her coffee, with the library in need of a librarian just sitting there. It had only taken a week and a half for her and Ruby to clean up the place and bulk order some more books to fill the shelves, and they’d been ready to open.

The longer she stayed in town, the harder it felt to contemplate packing up and leaving again. She would, she always did, and this wasn’t the first time she’d felt compelled to linger a while in one spot. She had to trust that the wanderlust would get to her eventually, and she’d feel the call of the road and a new horizon.

Maybe she’d ask Ruby to come with her, this time. Ruby had always been a talented photographer, and Belle had been considering creating some kind of partnership from her freelance writing for a while now. Ruby was what was holding her to Storybrooke, after all: it had to be reconnecting so strongly with her childhood best friend that created this pull to remain.

She wasn’t expecting to ever interact with Gold again, if she could help it. After a week had passed, she consigned him to the back of her mind, a malevolent presence best left undisturbed, and went about her business.

It was a week and a half from the opening day that Belle finally finished cataloguing all the physical books in the back rooms. She then set about sorting out the e-filing system on the ancient Library computer, and was humming a song under her breath, a dumb Europop tune that had played all day every day in the restaurant beneath her last apartment, enjoying her newfound equilibrium. It was then that a small voice, familiar as the sun, came from the other side of the counter. “Miss?”

Belle looked up, and then down over the edge, to a small boy standing on his tiptoes. She’d only seen him once or twice since that disastrous opening day, but Belle knew now she’d know Bae anywhere, those deep, dark eyes and that messy mop of russet curls unmistakeable. “Yes, young man?” she smiled, unable to contain her fondness, the ocean of love she’d had for this little boy since his earliest days.

She looked around instinctively for his father, but instead saw the woman he’d been with last time, the pretty brunette with the pixie-cut, was keeping watch a little way away. Which, she supposed, explained how Bae was here at all. There was no way in Hell Gold was ever going to return, after all, overdue book fines or no.

“I finished this one,” he pushed _Temeraire_ up onto the counter. “Are there more?”

Belle nodded, at war with herself. There could be nothing good from getting attached to Bae again when she planned to leave so soon, but then she never planned to return. If she didn’t take the chance to know him now, she would never get another, and even after all the time that had passed her affection for him almost knocked her over. She’d almost been his mother, once upon a time, and apparently that bond endured.

And so Belle, who had ever been impetuous and prone to diving in with both feet, smiled down at Bae and nodded. “There’s loads more,” she promised, “I’ll show you, come on.”

She stepped out from behind the counter, and her heart all but melted as Bae trotted along happily beside her, smiling up trustingly as she lead him to the children’s section. They sat down together on the soft rug by the bookshelves, and she showed him the whole series, lined up neatly. Belle pulled out the second instalment for him to take out that day, and handed it into Bae’s chubby little fingers.

“Now,” she smiled at him, “Are you gonna read this whole grown-up book all by yourself?” Bae shook his head, grinning, and Belle laughed, “Or are you going to share, and let your papa read some of it too?” Bae nodded, and hugged the book to his chest. “I bet your papa likes the dragons, doesn’t he?” Belle continued, teasingly, and Bae nodded very seriously at that, his little brow creasing as if this were a matter of very great importance.

“Dragons are papa’s favourite,” he informed her.

Belle found herself smiling without meaning to at that: of course the dragons appealed to Gold, sharing as he did their fondness for hoarding bright and shiny objects, breathing fire, and stealing other peoples’ property.

“Miss…” Bae started, hesitantly, and Belle’s smile faded at his change in demeanour. That was always something that had both enchanted her and worried her about children: their moods could change quickly, and when they did they changed entirely, with no room for ambivalence.

“My name’s Belle,” she told him, gently, trying to set him at ease. “You can call me that if you want.”

“Okay,” Bae nodded, looking even more worried, and Belle thought of how formal Gold was, and how much his son clearly looked up to him. It clearly concerned him to call an adult by her first name. She watched his face crease as he wrestled with that problem for a moment, and then he seemed to settle himself. “Miss Belle,” he decided, after a moment, and Belle concealed a smile at his internal compromise. “Do you… like my papa?”

Belle felt the wind knocked out of her, unable and unwilling to answer the question to Gold’s tiny son. Like Gold? Belle could scoff at the very idea: she loathed him with everything that she was. She _certainly_ didn’t like him, and she didn’t think anyone else in town did either, from what Ruby had been saying. He’d been universally disliked in Storybrooke for as long as Belle could remember, and looking down into Bae’s serious little face, she wondered if he didn’t already know that. How hard would it be, she thought, to know at the age of seven that the man you idolised, the centre of your world, was hated by everyone else you’d ever met?

But then, Belle knew all too well how hard that was, because her mother had died around the same age and she had watched her own father disintegrate. Now she was left with nothing but an empty house, and sour memories of arguments and rebellion and endless bottles of beer stacked on the dining table. She hoped that, someday when Gold lay as cold as Moe French, Bae was left with more than that.

The thought made her stop still for a second, cold dread rushing through her. Moe had died hating her guts, and the idea of the same thing happening again... she pushed it from her mind and returned her smile to the boy in front of her. However she felt about Gold, she had loved Bae since the moment she’d set eyes on him, only six months old and awake in his crib, and he’d reached up with eternally curious hands and gripped the finger she’d held before him.

“I know your papa very well,” she told him, at last, and hoped her pause hadn’t communicated more than she wanted to say.

“Oh,” Bae nodded, and Belle hoped that at seven he was too young to realise it wasn’t a complete answer. “ _I_ like my papa,” he said, at last, decidedly, stating the one thing he knew to be true, and for all her anger toward Gold, Belle found herself fiercely glad that his son felt that way.

“I’m glad, Bae,” she told him, honestly. “I know he loves you too.”

Bae nodded, equally sure of that, and Belle sighed in relief at a bullet dodged as she rose to her feet, and lead Bae back to the desk.

She stamped the book out and handed it back to him, and then a small blonde girl – the same girl he’d been with before, she thought, the schoolteacher’s daughter – came running over, and he barely remembered to say goodbye before they ran off together. Her name was Emma, Belle recalled, and her mother’s name was Mary Margaret.

Belle was left watching both children with a dopey, happy smile, and she had to shake her head to clear the stupid fuzzy fondness away. Bae wasn’t her son; he was no relation to her.

“Kids are great, aren’t they?” Mary Margaret had come over to check a couple books out of her own, and Belle tore her eyes from Bae and his friend to give her a perfunctory smile. She’d been a waitress at Granny’s with Ruby when Belle left, doing her teacher training at the local community college, and her hair had been as long as Ruby’s. Belle had never known her at all, but the name had stuck if nothing else, even if she’d struggled to recognise her with her new haircut.

“Yeah,” she agreed, keeping her eyes down on her work. “Is the little girl yours, then?”

“Emma?” Mary Margaret smiled, the endless pride of a parent shining through, “Yes, she’s my daughter. I’ve got to thank you for the stuffed animals and the toys in the kids’ area, by the way. Emma’s bright but she’s not really got the attention span yet for books.”

Belle smiled at that, “It’s no trouble, honestly. It’s just important to get kids used to being around books. She’ll find a favourite sooner or later and that’s all it takes.”

Mary Margaret nodded, and for a moment there was only the soft hum of the computer, and the soft tap of the keyboard as Belle logged the withdrawals.

“I saw you were recommending something for Bae Gold just then,” Mary Margaret ventured. “He’s the reader of the two.”

“I can imagine, with his father,” Belle agreed, without thinking, and Mary Margaret nodded.

“None of us can work out how he came out so… normal,” Mary Margaret said, almost conspiratorially. “Bae and Emma are thick as thieves, but I’m still frightened to death of his father. And yet the last time we were in here…”

“What?” Belle’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, and Mary Margaret looked uncomfortable.

“It’s none of my business,” she sighed at last. “And I’m not trying to pry, I’m just… I overheard the two of you arguing before, and I wanted to warn you, since you’ve been gone a long time.”

“Warn me about what?”

“About Gold,” Mary Margaret replied, finally. “He’s gotten worse and worse, these past few years. I only remember overhearing your fight because it was the first time in months I’ve heard anyone stand up to that man!”

Belle sighed at that, because she had a sinking suspicion that this downward turn might have started around five years ago, right when she drove her car over the town line and didn’t look back. What had happened between them had been ugly to say the least, and it had hardly ended well. It was exactly like him to take a personal crisis out on everyone else. “It’s sweet of you to reach out,” Belle told her, quietly, “but it’s really okay. I don’t live in any of his properties, so he can’t touch me.”

“Eviction’s not all he does to people,” Mary Margaret told her, worriedly. “I’d just hate to see you get hurt, just for standing up to him.”

In that moment, Belle understood Bae’s question entirely. He spent so much time with this apparently well meaning, if a little timid, woman, and he must have picked up at some point this sense of fear and anger that simmered toward his father. That was why he’d asked her: he’d seen them talking, and wondered if this new face in his life could offer a different opinion.

Once upon a time, Belle would have felt defensive, even protective, and argued that Gold wasn’t the monster even good people like Mary Margaret believed him to be. But once upon a time Belle had been very young, and naïve, and desperate to see the good in everyone. Belle had learned the error of her ways in that respect: sometimes, whatever good existed just wasn’t enough to balance out a lifetime of bad.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, and she meant it: she would be careful never to speak to Gold again. “But I’m not afraid of him.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Mary Margaret replied, and they both laughed, a little awkwardly.

Belle was glad when she’d checked all the books out, and the other woman was free to leave and take the children with her. Belle was used to a fairly solitary life, a life where few people knew anything about her or cared, and she’d forgotten what it was like living in a small town where everyone knew her name, and her business, and people talked. Belle was a habitually private person, and it hadn’t just been wanderlust that had driven her out of town in the first place.

\---

_“Are you ready?”_

_It was a loaded question. Belle shivered in the cold morning air, pulling in her coat tighter around her. The sun was only just hovering on the horizon, the sky cast in winter blue and pale orange, the world holding its breath._

_They were stood outside the diner, Will’s car loaded up with their packed bags, ready to go. In two hours they’d be at the airport. In five they’d be on the early flight to London. It was fitting that her last moments in Storybrooke would be set outside the only home she had left. She’d hugged Granny goodbye; Ruby had cried. They were inside, back at work. She was already gone to them._

_Did he know she was leaving today? Did he intend to come and say goodbye?_

_Belle knew the answer without having to ask the question. If he knew, then he didn’t care. There might as well already be an ocean between them, rather than a few blocks._

_“Belle?” Will called from behind her. “C’mon, we have to beat the traffic.”_

_She nodded, and swallowed hard. She had a sense of jumping off a cliff, diving deep into the unknown without a compass. Here it is, she thought: the day she’d thought would never come. The world was waiting just beyond the town line, and she was finally about to go and see it._

_She reached into her pocket, and stroked the folded atlas page, her talisman, with one finger. “We’re doing it, mama,” she murmured, softly. “It’s finally happening.”_

_She walked slowly down the diner steps, and clambered into the passenger seat. A last look at the diner saw Ruby waving from the window, a teary smile on her pretty face. Belle had promised to call when they reached Heathrow, and she raised her hand, a silent, final goodbye. Was it possible she’d never come back here, truly: that she’d never spend another afternoon in the diner booth over a book; that she’d never sleep another night in Ruby’s cramped double bed?_

_She had to look away._

_Will shot her a conspirator’s grin, full of infectious excitement. “You ready, Belles?”_

_This time, Belle nodded. She took a deep breath, and felt her soul rested on the next words, “Yes,” she said. “I’m ready.”_

_He kicked the car into gear, and started for the town line. Belle stared out of the window, and watched the town that had been her home for the past fifteen years drift by for the final time._

_Game of Thorns was silent, closed up, although she knew her father would be hard at work in the garden already. He had called the night before. She hadn’t picked up, and he wasn’t outside, waving her off. Her childhood home passed by, and then it was gone, lost around a corner. Tears pricked her eyes, but she brushed them away. It wasn’t home anymore. Moe had made that clear; he wasn’t even outside to wave goodbye._

_A moment later, they turned onto Maple and passed the pink house. Belle couldn’t help but look back one last time, for all she knew it was weak, and pointless. It was quiet, that cold September morning, and she had the almost irresistible urge to stop the car, to clamber out and go up those well-trodden steps to the porch, to let herself in and climb the stairs, and crawl back into bed with her love. Bae would be awake soon, crying for his feed. Cam’s hair would be mussed, his eyes glazed from sleep. He’d make coffee, and feed the baby, and start his day. A day she would never hear about._

_She could never go back there, now. The shelf of her books was emptied; she had lost her claim to the chair by the window and the right side of the bed. It wasn’t home anymore. They weren’t her family anymore._

_She knew she couldn’t have bourn that life, an endless day-to-day of work and sleep and the same conversations, the same view, the same stale air. She had plans, promises to keep, miles and miles to go before she could finally settle and stay still. But for a single, treacherous moment, the pull of the town line and the horizon beyond paled in comparison to that warm bed, and those warm arms. But she’d burned that bridge, hadn’t she? He’d handed her the matches himself, the moment he asked her to choose between their future and her dreams._

_Cam would never understand, and perhaps he would never forgive her for choosing against him. Maybe he’d even done her a favour, when he’d lashed out and made the feeling mutual. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. If she were there beside him instead of here, on her way out of town, then all she would have done was trade a fast exit for a slow decay. They would have ended up like her mother and father: resentful, silent, and trapped together. She was doing them both a favour by getting out now._

_The weight of the knowledge that she could never go back, that the way was barred to her now, still crushed the air from her lungs. Belle closed her eyes for just a moment, could only hope that soon, when the ache of fresh homesickness wore off and the horizon showed its true glory, she would be able to draw breath._

_She looked across at Will: her friend, her would-be lover, her partner-in-crime. For a moment, she hated him, his foot on the gas pedal and his soul light and clear of regret. Would this ending be so final if he had never arrived? If he had never offered to pose as her boyfriend, and inadvertently stoked Cam’s jealousy past the point of no return?_

_He’d gotten what he’d wanted, in any case. She was in his car rather than Cam’s bed, and when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders she didn’t shrug him away. It was comfort, even if she couldn’t give him what he really wanted. Her heart was still in bed next to Cam, even if her soul and her body were careening toward the skyline._

_She caught sight of his black eye on the other side of his face, and shook her head. No, this wasn’t Will’s fault. If anything, he was the only true victim here._

_“You okay?” Will asked. She nodded, and swallowed, ignoring the knot in her throat and the ache in her soul. She leaned away, and rested her head against the window. The glass was cool against her forehead; her eyes fixed on the road ahead and not her home, burning behind her._

_“Yes,” she said, as they passed over the town line at last, and left Storybrooke far behind in the dust. “I’m okay.”_


	5. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm weak and impatient and am now going to aim to update twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. As always, italics are flashbacks.

Anger management had never been one of Gold’s strong suits.

Oh, he was all patience and calm when it came to his son’s minor acts of disobedience, and he maintained his control and composure at all times in business, but those things were different. In those cases he had a role to perform, a goal to achieve, and so he could set aside whatever personal feelings he had and focus on the task at hand.

It was precisely when things got personal that Gold’s temper slipped, and suddenly managing his feelings became a thing of the past. There were good reasons, reasons beyond his past traumas and his general misanthropy, that he avoided close attachments with people at all costs. No one could get under his skin; no one could make him react in ways beyond his conscious control. No one, that was, until Belle French had wandered back into town.

She wouldn’t leave until her blasted house was sold, and so far as he knew there had been no offers on the place since their first encounter. Gold had been willing to bide his time, to wait her out: he was a patient man, and she wasn’t good at staying put for long anyway. Sooner rather than later, he’d assumed, something would force her hand, he’d buy her out, and she’d vanish back over the horizon.

Then she’d spent time alone with his son, and the circumstances had changed. Gold’s mood was foul, darker than it had been in a long time, and he all but marched down Main Street, his cane keeping a staccato rhythm on the sidewalk, on his way to the estate agents. His plan was simple: he’d offer her such an obscene amount of money for the place that she’d be incapable of turning it down, and she’d be gone in a week. That she’d be using his money to start her new life a million miles away from him was either a perverse victory or a stomach-churning defeat, but her absence was worth any price. Gold had made that bargain once before; he would happily make it again in reverse.

The estate agent was stunned by the amount of money offered – at least half again what the property was worth – but was in no place to question the town’s harshest landlord with a face like thunder. Gold took the documents confirming his offer and kept them safe in his briefcase, and stalked back to the shop without another word to anyone.

He’d thought he’d feel better with his plan in motion and his goal within his sights, but the very notion of dealing with Belle in any capacity just made his stomach clench. The last deal he’d tried to make with her, she’d turned down flat. It felt like idiocy itself to try to make another.

“Papa!” Bae greeted him, startling him then from his thoughts, and Gold looked up with a smile to see David Nolan following Bae inside. Nolan had a landlord issue to discuss, and so had offered to drop Gold’s son off at the shop after school.

Gold didn’t like having his son in his place of business, usually: there was too much animosity in the shop, directed at and emanating from Gold, and the walls were covered in sharp objects and choking hazards. Not the place at all for a curious, perceptive seven-year-old. But he needed his son today, needed the peace that came from being with his child and having to be a father, and so he hadn’t questioned David’s proposal.

“Hey, Bae,” he greeted his son with a broad grin, and came around the counter to meet the two of them. “How was your day?”

“I started my new book!” Bae announced, excitedly, “I got through two whole pages by myself!”

“That’s great, son,” Gold nodded. “You get that at school?”

Bae shook his head, “The Lady gave it to me,” he told him, in reverent tones, and Gold’s heart sank in his chest. ‘The Lady’ meant only one person. The kindly librarian who had told Bae all about dragons, and apparently marked his soul for the second time.

Gold’s hand clenched to a white-knuckled fist on his cane handle. Belle French clearly needed a stronger warning to stay out of his affairs.

“Is this another dragon book, then?” he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic and not murderous, and he knew David caught the lie even though Bae appeared not to. He nodded, ecstatic, and Gold smiled. “Why don’t you go into the back, then, and go back over the chapters I read to you last night?” he suggested. “You can write down any words you don’t know, and I’ll explain them later.”

“’M’kay papa,” Bae agreed, and trotted happily into the back of the shop, onto the cot he always took up when he spent any time here.

“You okay, Gold?” David asked, when Bae was out of earshot, and Gold nodded tersely. David Nolan was perhaps the only man in town Gold could name as close to a friend, despite his wife’s abject terror of him, and Gold appreciated the concern for all it was misplaced.

“I am,” he confirmed, without further explanation. “Now, about this planning issue.”

“Mary Margaret wants an extension,” David explained, getting right to the point. “We ah…” he smiled, dopey but happy, and Gold was reminded why they weren’t closer friends. David was a very good-looking man, and it was a good thing, because he didn’t have the brainpower to compensate otherwise. “Well, she’s three months along, so I guess we can tell people now. She’s pregnant!”

“Congratulations,” Gold managed a genuine smile. Mary Margaret was a helpless busybody, and David wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, but they meant well and were very good parents. “She’s due in May, then? Winter’s not a great time for building work.”

“We were thinking of a conservatory,” David told him. “We could move a tonne of the living room stuff in there, shuffle some things around and use the spare bedroom upstairs for the new baby.”

“Doesn’t Emma want to share with her sibling?” Gold raised an eyebrow, knowing the answer: a baby wouldn’t be conducive to her adventures, after all. David grimaced.

“She doesn’t think she can hunt fairies if a baby’s watching,” he replied. “She’s an imaginative kid, really smart, but she’s independent and needs her space.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Gold smiled with genuine fondness. “And you need me to sign off on the extension?”

“If possible,” David nodded. “Unless… you need something in exchange?”

“For perfectly valid building work that will increase the property value, from conscientious tenants?” Gold scoffed. “I’m not so unreasonable as all that. And you do provide free childcare, after all.”

“Then it’s a pleasure doing business,” David grinned, and Gold nodded, a little uncomfortable with the man’s guileless smiling.

“Likewise,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and start drawing up the necessary documents. I’ll bring them round when they’re done, shouldn’t be too long.”

“Sure thing,” David agreed, “see you then.”

He left quickly after, and Gold shook his head, torn between wondering if he’d gone soft, and marvelling at his apparently dreadful reputation. He might be a monster, but he was a lawful monster who stuck to his deals. The Nolans paid their rent on time every month without fail, they were quiet and polite neighbours, and they looked after his child for free almost every day. They’d already more than paid their side of the bargain to simply authorise some building work.

That said, Gold knew would have to keep an eye on it, and make sure those trusting fools didn’t hire some sole trader who’d leave the place in shambles.

Bae’s nose was stuck in his book when Gold returned to him, but he looked up when his father cleared his throat. “Good read?” he asked, smiling. Bae nodded earnestly.

“Lots of long words, though,” he showed his father the list he was making in big, messy print letters, of the words he couldn’t read.

“Overwhelming,” Gold read the top word, “it means that something’s too big for you to understand. Like… if you feel so happy you can’t really think. That’s overwhelming.”

“Like eating ice cream too fast?” Bae asked, frowning. Gold snickered and shook his head.

“That’s brain freeze,” he corrected, and then thought for a moment. “But I suppose, yes, if it meant you couldn’t think properly. Well done.”

Bae beamed at the compliment, and Gold returned to the list, working through them and their contexts on the page Bae had read carefully. The books were well above Bae’s reading level, and he did wonder what Belle had been thinking recommending such advanced reading to a boy of Bae’s age. But then, maybe she was too ignorant to realise such things, not having been around to raise him and learn these things. Or maybe she’d thought it would be something he and Bae could do together, interfering in their lives even now.

“The Lady said you knew her,” Bae said, after a while had passed. “She said…”

“Why was she talking about me, Bae?” Gold asked, sharply, and then tried to smile to soften his tone. “I mean, why not dragons?”

“She said she knew you’d like dragons,” Bae sighed. “How do you know the Lady, papa?”

Gold thought for a moment, the question too large, to overwhelming, too dangerous to answer quickly. “I… don’t really,” Gold lied at last, an easy lie, to cover a painful truth. “She lived here for a while a long time ago. She used to babysit you, in fact,” he revealed, and Bae’s face lit up. “Before you knew Emma.”

“Papa?” Bae asked then, and Gold stiffened, waiting for another hard question.

“Yes, Bae?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?” Bae asked, and Gold chuckled with relief and nodded.

“Yes, Bae, you know where it is. I’ll be out front if you need me.”

Bae nodded, and toddled off to the little bathroom at the back of the shop, as Gold heard the bell over the door ring again, and walked out to meet his customer.

“Well,” he murmured, bracing his hands on his cane as he took her in. “At least this time one of us isn’t shocked.”

Belle jumped and turned to him, tearing herself away from his jewellery display. She looked more herself today than she had before: her heels were back, the impractical height she loved so much, and her pretty pink skirt and blue chequered blouse were much more her style than the jeans and boots he’d initially found her squatting in. She looked healthier, stronger, and he found himself glad before he mentally stabbed himself for even thinking such things.

Her eyes were twin blue fires, and Gold found his own anger matching. “I don’t accept,” she snapped, without any explanation, slamming a handful of papers down on his countertop. “It’s an obscene figure, and you’re a nasty show-off, and I don’t accept.”

“For now,” he smiled, thinly. “That job of yours wont cover all your expenses, and you forget, Miss French, that I know you all too well. You’ll want to be off, soon, and when you go, you’ll need the proceeds from the sale to do so. I’m more than happy to finance your immediate and _permanent_ exit.”

“Well I’m not _happy_ to accept,” she snapped back. He laughed.

“Good luck finding another taker who’ll offer such a high sum up-front,” he replied. “Mayor Mills won’t pull the funds together to match my offer, and that sum would buy a good six months of luxury on the road. I’d reconsider, if I were you.”

“Well I wouldn’t,” she told him, firmly. “So get it out of my sight.” She turned on her stiletto heel and marched for the door, but his voice stopped her.

“You’re planning to stay forever, then?” he asked, coolly. “Invading my son’s life against my orders, and working in that dank little library?”

“Bae came to me, Gold,” she replied, over one shoulder, not even looking at him. Her back was ramrod straight, her shoulders stiff and tight, and he thought with some satisfaction that at least his presence hurt her as much as hers did him. “He wanted the second book. He asked me about you. I won’t push him away, and you can’t make me.”

“He’ll get attached,” Gold reminded her, softly, appealing to whatever humanity she had in her cold chest. “He’ll miss you when you leave and never come back.”

“He won’t miss some quiet, tame librarian who loaned him a few books,” Belle denied, but she turned a little more, her upper body facing him now. “You won’t let him.”

“I won’t let you _hurt_ him,” Gold corrected her. “I know how you operate, Miss French.”

“You have no place talking to me about hurt,” Belle snapped back, and Gold gaped at her, unable to comprehend such an assertion. Wasn’t it Belle who’d rejected him and run for the hills with that ruffian of hers without a backwards glance? Wasn’t she the one who’d squatted in an abandoned building just to avoid even seeing him? “I won’t take your money, Gold,” she told him. “I’ll be penniless if I have to.”

“Your pride always was your downfall,” Gold noted. “Actually, no, your flakiness and unreliability are, but pride comes a close third.”

“You know what?” she laughed with disbelief, with anger, as she turned to him with a finger pointed and stalked closer, back to the counter. Her cheeks were flushed with rage, and her eyes shone. “I had honestly thought that after five years, you’d have realised what an ass you were and what a huge mistake you made. But no, you’re as cold and as cruel as you ever were, and twice as rude!”

“I’m just surprised that leather-clad thief isn’t with you,” Gold snapped back, “Bill? Phil?”

“ _Will_ ,” Belle corrected, harshly, “Is married and settled in Newcastle, with a baby on the way.”

“Did you walk out on him, too, then?” Gold demanded, although the knowledge that the boy Belle had betrayed everything for was out of her life made his blood sing. “Leave him in the dust as well?”

“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself all this time?” she demanded, folding her arms over her chest. “That I cheated on you with Will?”

“What other conclusion is there?” he retorted. “You put on quite the show for the town, dearie, at some point it was bound to become a reality. And then you skip town in the back of his car, what else was I supposed to think?”

“We _agreed_ I would put on that show to keep my father from finding out,” she reminded him. “You knew how scared I was of what he would do, and you promised you wouldn’t get jealous!”

“That was before you ran off with him.”

“So I could see his part of the world, not because I wanted to be with him!” she cried. “I _begged_ you to come with me, but you refused. Don’t blame me for not wanting to go out there all alone!”

“And here I thought I meant nothing to you, and factored nothing into your decisions. Weren’t you the one with the spiel about needing to see the world and live your dreams, not wanting to be tied down, all that nonsense?”

“You know exactly what you did!” she retorted. “You shut me out! You refused to return my things, you sold me out to my father, you- Bae?”

She stopped, started, and Gold whirled to see Bae’s little face watching them from around the curtain, his book clutched to his chest. “Papa?” he asked, his little voice soft and unsure, his eyes on his father.

“It’s okay, Bae,” Gold soothed immediately, coming over to his boy and hauling him up for a close hug, setting him down on the counter so his body blocked Bae from Belle’s stricken eyes. “It’s okay, your new friend and I were just having a little chat.”

“Someone was yelling,” Bae mumbled, worriedly, and Gold cast a glare over his shoulder to Belle.

“That was me, Bae,” Belle remedied, quickly. “I saw a spider. Your papa was helping me take it outside.”

“Did you kill it?” Bae asked, and Belle shook her head.

“You don’t kill spiders,” she told him, earnestly. “They’re just trying to get by, like all of us.”

“Oh,” Bae said, processing this. “Papa kills spiders.”

“I bet he does,” Belle glared back at him over Bae’s head. “But it’s gone now. I’m safe, see?”

“Okay,” Bae nodded again, and Gold gathered him close, and let Bae bury his curly head in his shoulder. “Can we go home soon?” he asked, his voice muffled in Gold’s collar, “I’m tired.”

“Soon,” he promised, “As soon as I’m finished helping Miss French, okay?”

“Mkay,” Bae nodded, agreeing, and Gold carried him back into the back room and set him back down on the cot, knowing he had perhaps fifteen minutes before Bae would need his nap, and would become grumpy, weepy and unpleasant.

He came back out, and Belle seemed diminished somehow, weak and shaking. For a moment, he had an unwelcome urge to wrap his arms around her, to hold her close and comfort her. “He’s so small,” she murmured, “He seems so big when he’s happy, but just then…”

“He’s still easily frightened, as are all children,” Gold explained, his anger quelled by her shrinking back. He didn't want to fight with her. He'd never wanted this to happen, to end up with them daggers-drawn and hurting. There was a soft look in her eyes that lingered when she met his gaze, and he wondered if she didn't feel the same. 

“I... I know that things have happened between us,” she swallowed, hard, and nodded to herself. He could sense desperation coming off her in waves, and for all his hatred of her he was as intrigued as ever, scenting blood in the water. “I know you don’t trust me anymore, and I… but that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?"

“I still love Bae,” Belle told him, softly. “And I know you won’t let me love him, and I… I understand,” she swallowed again, apparently holding back tears for a boy she willingly and wilfully left. “But you have to let me have something, Cam. Please.”

He stiffened all over at her use of his forename, a name he hadn’t heard in a long time. He was Mr Gold, and no one in town called him by his given name. Only Belle ever had, at least since Mila left, and she’d been gone a long time.

“I don’t have to give you anything, Belle,” he told her, matching his given name with her own. “You aren’t his mother. You’re just a former babysitter who didn’t even bother to say goodbye.”

“You owe me an apology!” Belle cried, desperate.

“For what?” he sneered, clinging to his anger, paper-thin in the face of those beseeching blue eyes. He had to protect Bae. “For loving you enough to hold on?”

“For trying to trap me and refusing to come with me, when you knew I needed to go!” she cried. “For threatening my father and turning him against me, for beating the living daylights out of the man you thought was my boyfriend… you ruined my life and all because you were angry over a break-up!”

For a moment, Gold’s mind reeled: firstly, he couldn’t imagine why she was so upset about actions he'd taken in self-defence against a stranger in the dark. More importantly, what in God’s name had Moe French done to her to hurt her so? For a sickening moment, he recalled how terribly afraid she had always been of French discovering them, the lengths she had gone to, in order conceal their relationship from him. What had that oaf done to her following that revelation, that she hated him this much for it?

\---

_“Cam! Cam, open this door right now!”_

_He could hear her hammering on the front door, but he ignored it. Bae was asleep upstairs, and he knew that he was her real prize. She’d left him a dozen voice messages, demanding to see Bae, to say goodbye. He’d deleted every last one._

_He sat in his study, and read over the French documents one more time, savouring the taste of retribution. She’d made her choice; she was leaving. He knew she was living now with that Will Scarlett, their once-feigned relationship now made real. It was his own fault for allowing her to play out that ruse for the sake of her father in the first place. She’d been so very afraid of old Moe’s reaction, should he ever discover that she was sleeping with the enemy, afraid enough to use an old friend as a decoy._

_Last night, French had agreed to buy his home for a fraction of its worth, in exchange for funding Belle’s expeditions out of the profits. He knew everything now. That Belle had apparently moved in with the boy despite the deception now being moot proved everything. They were leaving together in a week: the date couldn’t come soon enough that this waking nightmare would end._

_The hammering stopped; Belle’s voice ceased. Gold breathed a shaky sigh, and went back to his reading. He’d given her what she wanted, hadn’t he? She had her money, her boyfriend, and her freedom._

_All he had was Bae. She didn’t get him as well._

_He looked out of the stained glass window, and saw her down on the path, glaring daggers up at the house. She looked distraught, but more than that: she looked furious. Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps she had come today to scream accusations at him, for telling her father their secrets. She ought to be grateful, he thought to himself. The money he would give her would finance her swift and permanent exit, and wasn’t that exactly what she wanted?_

_Their eyes met through the glass, although Gold knew that from her point of view she couldn’t see him. She was beautiful, even in her anger and her pain, even after everything, and his heart clenched with love he just couldn’t kill. For just a moment, he felt a wave of guilt and remorse that threatened to knock him flat. He wanted to run down there, to open the door, to apologise and say any number of other humiliating things to make things right again._

_But she was still leaving. And he had still told her father, bringing the wrath of Moe French down upon her head, to punish her for leaving. And she was still living with Will Scarlett._

_He turned away. When he looked back a few minutes later, she was gone._

\---

His mouth parted, questions and denials and explanations all warring to be spoken. She stopped him with a shaking palm: “Don’t bother,” she said, swallowing hard. “Unless it’s an apology, I don’t need to hear it. And... I didn’t leave Bae without saying goodbye.”

“What?” Gold’s eyes narrowed, his mind stumbling to a halt, zeroing in on that admission.

He forced himself to replay over those final weeks in his head, trying to remember any time when Belle had asked to see Bae. She’d run from his proposal and his home, and he hadn’t ever wanted to see her again. He’d seen her father, her apparent boyfriend, but never her. He’d even held onto her possessions left in his home, refusing to return them, to even answer the door or take her calls. Those possessions had ended up in a box in his closet, where they remained to this day. He had refused to even look at her, once her decision was made. Better to shut her out by choice, than cling like a pathetic child until she wrenched herself free.

“The day I left you,” Belle continued, raising her chin in defiance, “That wasn’t the last time I saw Bae.”

“Is this where you reveal to me that you broke into my home in the middle of the night?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, “Or, perhaps, that you abducted him from the day-care centre for an hour or two?”

“No,” Belle shook her head. “Nothing like that. You were in Granny’s one afternoon, just before I left town. I’d been working myself up to call you, to ask if I could see him one last time. I didn’t want to see you: believe it or not, it was because I thought it would be too hard to leave if I had to brave that fight all over again. But I would have, for Bae. But then…” she took a deep breath, “Then you came into the diner. You didn’t see me, I was talking to Granny and Bae was fussing, you were distracted. You had to use the bathroom and you asked Ruby to keep an eye on him for five minutes. She asked me to take over, because she knew I had been his babysitter.”

“You stole five minutes with him while my back was turned,” Gold said, slowly, unable to believe what he was hearing. He barely remembered that afternoon, but clearly something momentous had happened in his absence.

“I hadn’t seen him in over a week!” Belle cried. “I loved that child like he was my own and I hadn’t seen him in days because you wouldn’t let me near him! You were dodging my calls, and ignoring me in the street, so yes, I saw a chance for a few minutes alone with him, to… to just say goodbye. I knew he wouldn’t remember me, and it’s better that way, but I had to just… I had to.”

Gold wanted to hate her for that: for stealing time with Bae without permission, or perhaps for choosing to do so while she knew he wasn’t willing to let her come back. If she wanted to be gone, then as far as he was concerned she had to live with that. But who could blame her? He was a hateful monster, everyone knew that, but his son was sunshine itself, and had been blameless in all this.

He wanted to hate her, but somehow the knowledge that she had risked his anger to see Bae one last time, that she’d missed him enough – at least – to seize any opportunity… it released a small amount of the pressure in his chest. It assuaged just a little of his loathing for her.

“What do you want, then, Belle?” he asked, pursing his lips, after long moments had passed. “Reconciliation? To tell the boy the truth and upset him further?”

“I just know that… that if you don’t give me something to know him, to keep, to remember him, then I’ll never be able to keep my distance. You owe me that much, Cam. I fed him, bathed him, and kept him close when you needed to work or to sleep. I stopped you from losing your mind when you had no idea how to look after a baby by yourself, and you do owe me something for that.”

He didn’t remind her that he tried to give her everything, everything he had in recognition for that kindness, and she turned him away. He didn’t remind her he’d stayed in the same place all this time, in her hometown, steady as a rock, and she’d made it plain she wanted no more to do with him. He didn’t remind her that Bae had been here too, all this time, and she’d only reached out now because her father’s death had forced her home.

He regarded her, silently, thinking it over. There was an opportunity here, and he’d not destroy it with harsh, unnecessary words. He’d always known how to recognise a desperate soul. And perhaps, if Moe’s reaction had been as awful as he now feared, he did owe her something after all.

“Very well, then,” he nodded slowly, fighting back his memories of that time when she’d all but been Bae’s mother, and he’d thought it would last forever. She was right: if he kept her out completely, then she’d only find herself creeping closer. Belle’s emotionalism was only matched by her impulsiveness, and she was wise not to trust herself; he certainly didn’t. She cocked her head to one side, and waited for him to continue. “A trade. You keep as much distance as possible from Bae without hurting him, and I’ll make you a box of photos and keepsakes from the last five years, so you can hold them and pretend you didn’t abandon him when he needed you.”

She swallowed, but nodded, and didn’t argue with his cruel assessment of her behaviour.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Belle receives her promised box, and finds more than she expects


	6. Memento

Gold was as good as his word, as always: a box arrived at the library for her two days later. And Belle, who perhaps hadn’t truly believed he would actually give her this, for all that he always kept his deals and desperately wanted her away from Bae, ignored it completely.

She told herself she didn’t have the time to go for a stroll through someone else’s memories. She stashed the box on a high shelf in her office, safe and out of sight and mind. That week was busier than the last, her appeal to the teachers apparently having made an impression as several had set book reports to their classes. Belle was inundated with children and their parents seeking a book complicated enough to be acceptable, but simple enough to understand.

Bae didn’t come through with Gold, but that was to be expected. He already had his second _Temeraire_ novel, anyway, as she was reminded when a tall, strikingly handsome man came in holding the hand of Bae’s friend Emma.

“I want the dragon book!” Emma was insisting, “Bae wouldn’t let me touch it and I _love_ dragons!”

“I’m sure there’s plenty of dragon books,” the man – her father, he had to be: they had the same chin - was assuring her. “You don’t want to be a copy-cat, do you?”

“I want dragons!” Emma was insisting, and Belle smothered a smile. The girl had an admirable if worrying strength of will, for such a small child.

“Hey, do you know what she’s talking about?” The man had come to the counter, and while he certainly wasn’t Belle’s type – too broad shouldered, too friendly, too All-American – she had to admit she was a little taken aback by his charming smile. “My daughter’s best friend got a book about dragons from here, and now it’s all she talks about.”

She frowned, and pretended to have to think hard to remember. “The one Bae Gold borrowed?” she checked, and Emma’s father nodded.

“I think you met my wife,” he said, “Mary Margaret? I’m David Nolan, I’m this little hooligan’s father.”

Belle nodded, and pursed her lips, thoughtfully. Of course she didn’t tell him that she’d loaned _Temeraire_ out to herself as soon as Bae had returned it, proud of herself for having found something he liked so much and suddenly desperate to reread it herself. Bae’s reading level had to be very advanced: the story and the words were a lot more complicated than she’d remembered when she loaned it to him. And then that had got her wondering how much of it he’d had help with, and she’d been assailed by images of father and son in pyjamas at bedtime, reading while cuddled up in warm lamplight, and she’d had to put it down.

“Emma, right?” Belle looked down at Emma directly and smiled, leafing through the children’s catalogue in her mind, trying to think of the right fit. Emma clearly needed something with a lot of action and not as many long words as the book she’d given Bae. She certainly seemed very bright, but restlessly energetic where Bae was quiet and studious. She needed something easy to understand that would hold her attention, something to get her into the idea of sitting and reading for longer than five minutes. “Are you sure you want the same long, boring book I gave your friend, Emma?”

Emma looked at her doubtfully, and seemed cowed by a stranger suddenly talking to her and not her father. Belle crouched down so she was level with Emma’s round little face, and smiled confidentially, “You know,” she said, “I have a special dragon book that just came in today. It’s for dragon experts only, though, so I don’t know if you’d want that instead?”

Emma’s face lit up, and she nodded desperately, “I’m a dragon esspert!” she declared mushing her words in her eagerness. “I want the book!”

“All right then,” Belle beamed at her, and rose to stand again, turning to David. She gave him a frank, friendly smile. “The book I gave to Bae is a very advanced reading level, mostly because we didn’t have a such a great kids’ selection when we first opened. We’ve had a couple of big shipments come in since then, so I’ve got one more appropriate for Emma’s age range now.”

David nodded, gratefully, “Anything that’ll get her to stop talking about _the dragon book_ and sit still for five minutes would be great.”

Belle grinned, “I have just the thing,” she assured him, and then looked back at Emma. “You coming, then?”

Emma nodded, seriously, and followed her father and Belle to the children’s corner. Belle crouched down at the end of the first shelf, and pulled out _How To Train Your Dragon_ from the middle of the row. “You have to be very careful with this,” she told Emma, handing it to her as if it were a priceless first edition and not a library-bound paperback. “It’ll tell you all about how to train dragons, even the wild ones, but you have to _promise_ me you’ll use it responsibly.”

“I will,” Emma assured her, nodding solemnly, but there was a bright, determined gleam in her eye that made Belle glad there were no real dragons for her to practice on. Belle looked up and winked at David, who looked relieved Emma had finally stopped badgering him. “I’m very responsible, aren’t I dad?”

“You’re a lot of things, kiddo,” David told her, grinning. “You’re my brave little hero.”

Emma beamed as her father ruffled her messy blonde curls, and Belle beamed at the pair of them, forgetting for the first time – or maybe the second, the third at most – why she’d rejected this sort of life for so long. Why she still rejected it. Who knew? Maybe if she’d made a different choice when offered the chance, she’d be in David Nolan’s shoes right now: on a different path, in another life.

She led them back to the desk, and stamped the book out before handing it back to Emma. “Now, you get that back to me in two weeks, okay? If you need it longer I can stamp it again, but this is a magic stamp and it’ll be angry if you don’t let it do its job.”

“We can do that, can’t we?” David assured her, and checked with Emma, who nodded like she’d been given a sacred task. “Now, what do we say to the nice lady?”

“Thank you lady!” Emma recited, and waved her pudgy hand, and Belle laughed and waved back. “Come on, dad!” Emma whined, her duty done. “I have to go be an expert!”

“Thank you,” David smiled a little apologetically at Belle, and tried to ignore his daughter’s free hand tugging at his jeans, “I never thought she’d find a book she actually wanted to read.”

“We’re using all the dirty tricks these days, “ Belle teased, with a sly wink. “Peer pressure, back alleys, promises of dragons. You know, we figured if it works for the drug dealers…”

David laughed, but looked a little puzzled, and Belle just smiled and waved them off. She had the odd, unwelcome thought that Gold would have found that funny. But then, wasn’t that how they’d ended up together in the first place? Sharing the same weird sense of humour, their intellectualism setting them apart from most of the rest of the town. He was cultured, well read and erudite, and they’d both come from somewhere else. It had been a breath of fresh air, when she’d come back to stifling Storybrooke after graduation, to find someone to talk to about more than town gossip and crop cycles. Someone who could challenge her and excite her mind, and always make her laugh.

Belle sighed, and shook her head. For the longest time she had tried to convince herself that the world was far bigger than this one little town, and that just being two oddities in a town of homogeny was no real basis for a relationship. Five years later, the lie of that had been proven. No matter how far and wide she had travelled, Belle had never met anyone who could make her laugh like him.

“Children are so sweet at that age.” Another voice, a voice she recognised, broke Belle out of her reverie. She saw Regina Mills approaching the desk, a perfunctory smile on her face. “Aren’t they?”

“They can be,” Belle smiled back, trying to look professional and friendly rather than… whatever it was she’d been feeling, in front of her boss. “What can I do for you, Madam Mayor?”

“It’s a somewhat delicate matter,” Regina said. “Do you mind if we speak in your office?”

“Of course not,” Belle smiled, and put the ‘back soon’ sign up on the desk, leading the Mayor back behind the counter and into her little office.

“You’ve made yourself quite at home here,” Regina noted, her eyes cataloguing the pictures on Belle’s desk, the little knick-knacks she always set up wherever she worked to ward off homesickness. It had been odd, feeling the urge to do the same here in the town that was ostensibly home. She still kept the page from her mother’s atlas in her pocket, carried with her wherever she went. It was her talisman, and if she’d felt herself reach for it more often of late, then it was only natural. She needed her mother’s memory now more than ever.

“I’m good at setting up home wherever I am,” Belle replied. “I have to thank you again for giving me this job, Madam Mayor,” she continued, worrying now that perhaps she’d not been as grateful as she should have been. “You did me a real favour there.”

“It was no trouble, Miss French,” Regina smiled, and although nothing at all was amiss, Belle felt a shiver run down her spine. The heating must have broken again, she thought, she’d need to call Leroy to get that fixed. “This town was apparently in need of some decent reading material. It was a lucky coincidence, your returning to your home qualified and in need of work right as we were looking to reopen this old place.”

Belle didn’t mention the real amount of luck involved: how she’d just happened to be talking to Ruby about her need for money and her degree right when Regina was buying her morning coffee, and how Regina had just happened to need a new librarian. It had all fallen so neatly into place.

“You’ve travelled a lot, haven’t you?” Regina continued, her eyes drifting over Belle’s photos of Paris, Moscow, Singapore, Auckland. “All over the world.”

“It’s my life,” Belle replied, with a small shrug.

“Five years of your life, anyway,” Regina stipulated, with a smile Belle couldn’t decipher.

“Yeah,” Belle agreed. “But, ah, you didn’t come in here to talk about my travels, did you?”

“No, you’re right, I didn’t,” Regina folded her hands in front of her, and gave Belle a direct stare that made Belle realise exactly why this woman had been Mayor for the past ten years without any significant opposition. “I came to talk about your family home. I know it can’t be easy to discuss, what with your father’s recent passing…”

“You want to buy Game of Thorns,” Belle surmised, cutting her off and Regina nodded.

“I do,” she said. “You’ve put the place up for sale, after all, and you must know it’s falling well beneath the city standards for commercial buildings. You need to sell it quickly, Miss French. I know what a burden it must be having it sat there; an emotional burden as much as a financial one. Mr Gold has already put in his offer… and far be it for me to wonder why you haven’t accepted it already.”

“I’m considering all my options,” Belle answered, stiffly, not liking the speculative, even suggestive look in Regina’s eyes. “What would you want to do with the place?”

“I’d like to let it out to a local seller,” Regina told her, “The town needs a bookshop, don’t you think?”

Belle considered that for a moment, unable to find anything wrong with the idea. The florist business had never been all that profitable, there being a low demand for fresh flowers in such a small town, and if her old home had to be used by someone else, Belle could think of nothing better to see it stacked full of books.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” she replied, honestly. “I’m not making any decisions right away, but if you put an offer in I’ll certainly consider it.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Miss French,” Regina smiled, and turned to leave. She paused for a moment, as if another thought had occurred to her, and she turned back to Belle. “You’re right to hesitate where Gold is concerned,” she added, “That man is slippery as an eel, and just as deadly. I’d think long and hard, if your other option is selling to him.”

Belle nodded, hoping her eyes didn’t betray anything untoward. “I’m just weighing my options, Madame Mayor,” she said at last. She couldn’t find the words to defend him, but her awareness of that box – freely given, freely offered – resting on her top shelf dulled the sharp edge of her anger. He was a good father, and he’d always been a fair landlord. Her unwillingness to sell was personal, not professional, and it wasn’t fair to spread her dirty laundry around. It didn’t sit right with her, even now, to badmouth him to others.

“Think hard, Miss French,” Regina advised, her lips set in a thin line. “Good afternoon.”

Belle watched her leave, and then returned to her desk, lost in her thoughts. Regina’s offer was tempting, certainly, and she was adamant she wouldn’t sell to Gold, but something made her hesitate, stop and think. Perhaps it was the reputation the Mayor herself had in town – she was by all accounts a bully, an opportunist, and a fearsome and domineering career politician. Everything they said about Gold, they said about Regina to some degree too.

But then, she’d also given Belle this job out of nowhere, out of the goodness of her heart. The library was the best place Belle had ever worked, and she had total control and free reign over her little domain. It could be nice to stay here, she thought, for a little while, just to catch her breath. But the moment the shop sold, she would have no further reason to remain in Storybrooke.

For all the temptation of selling her father’s shop to be let to a bookseller, something about Regina herself sat uneasily with Belle. She wondered if it was just the idea of having to sell at all. She’d grown up in the apartment over that shop, she’d worked there in high school and when she returned from college. Her childhood was written on its walls; her father’s life’s work grew on that land; her mother’s apple tree, a cutting from the tree Colette had adored back home in Australia, stood proud in the back garden. The only family she had left in the world was that house. To sell it to the Mayor meant losing that last tie to her old life: a life she’d thrown away and left behind, yes, but a life she’d always taken some small comfort in knowing was still here, just waiting for her to return.

The library closed at four on a Wednesday, and so the place was deserted. Belle retired to her little back office, valuing the quiet and privacy it offered in that moment to stop and think. She pulled _Temeraire_ out of her bag, and started to read, hoping that – as always – a good book could silence her mind and help her to truly think.

But for once, she couldn’t focus. It seemed she had opened a can of emotional worms by thinking so hard about letting go of Game of Thorns, and her mind kept circling back to the other family she’d had, the other home, the other life she’d cast aside in her race for the horizon. The box on the top shelf was suddenly as visible as a flare in the desert, and she couldn’t help herself: she reached up, and lifted it down to her desk.

“I don’t regret it,” she reminded herself, softly. “Whatever is in here is in the past. I’d have been trapped and miserable, and resented them both. I don’t regret a second of it.”

She fixed her eyes on her photos, on her own memories of the five years represented in this box, and nodded to herself. No small town life could have competed with the things she’d seen and done. No matter what lost stories this box contained, her own were better.

Five years of memories, memories she’d lost the chance to make, years she’d spent away from that beautiful child, now surrounded her on her desk. Gold, true to his word, had filled the box with pictures and drawings and little mementos: a sock with little boats on it; a toy train that had seen better days. They were labelled like items in a museum, every annotation written in Gold’s steady, patient hand.

Her shaking hand covered her mouth as she pulled a photograph from the heap: ‘ _August 15th, 2010 – a day at the beach w/Belle French_ ’. The three of them: Bae two years old and laughing on Gold’s shoulders, Belle with her arms around his waist, grinning from ear-to-ear. They’d gone to the beach one hot summer day. Cam had read a book while Belle and Bae built a sandcastle, and Bae had laughed and clapped when the waves rolled in and filled the moat. She remembered when it was taken: there had been a man with an old Polaroid camera, taking candid shots and selling them to the people involved. Cam had called him an opportunist, but Belle had been so enchanted by the photo that she’d bought it anyway.

Belle dropped the photograph down on the rest, shaking all over, tears rolling down her cheeks. It was a whole other life, the life in this box: a life she could have had for herself, if she’d only chosen it. That photo was the most recent of the three of them. She’d left town only a month later.

The next one in Gold’s neat chronological order was of a birthday party. Bae was smiling, sitting proudly in front of a big blue birthday cake, and the few others in the photo – Mary Margaret and David Nolan, holding a small blonde child who had to be Emma – were smiling at the camera. Gold was smiling, too, but there were bags under his eyes, and his smile was hollow.

‘ _November 22nd, 2010 – Bae’s 3rd Birthday_ ’

Belle felt sick to her stomach. That photo had been taken just a few months after she’d left. She could even see, in the background and just off to the side, the shape of the gift she’d bought and wrapped for Bae in advance. She’d seen the little red tricycle in late July, and known it was perfect for him. Little had she known then that she wouldn’t be there to see him open it; she wondered if he’d liked it.

Gold didn’t look like a man finally free of a toxic, dead-end relationship. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in weeks. His eyes were haunted, his face shut down with only a nominal smile on his lips.

She suddenly wondered what she looked like, in the photos of those first two weeks away from home. It hit her that here weren’t any. She’d stayed the first month in Newcastle with Will and his family, and she’d assiduously thrown herself into exploration. She knew she had a thousand photos of Hadrian’s Wall, the Angel of the North; of the Lakes and Edinburgh Castle and the Beatles Museum, and that she wasn’t in a single one of them. For some reason, she’d been finding it hard to smile for the camera.

Maybe she’d looked hollow, too. Maybe if she called Will and asked, he’d tell her she’d looked as dead inside as Cam did in the photo staring back at her.

There were more recent pictures, too, and Belle tried to focus on them: Bae with Emma, sitting hunched over something in the back yard (' _May 14th, 2011 – mud pies w/Emma Nolan'_ ). Bae with a worried expression, a blue backpack covered in trains slung over his shoulders, standing in front of a yellow school bus (' _September 9th, 2013 – 1st day of school_ '). She laughed, wetly, when she pulled out a picture of Bae holding up sticky, jam-covered fingers, while little Emma stood behind him, her fingers caught in the jar (' _February 21st, 2014 – caught red-handed w/Emma Nolan_ '). It seemed Bae had grown into a little thief in her absence.

There was one last one at the bottom, a very recent one from only a week or so back. Bae, with his dark curly head bent over the book Belle had given him only hours previous, utterly engrossed (' _September 12th, 2015 – first favourite book_ ').

Belle looked up, and was unsurprised to find that her face was soaked, covered with fresh tears. She put the pictures and mementos back in the box, reverently, carefully.

Gold wasn’t in most of the photos – they were all of Bae. There was no one else around to take pictures, she supposed, and he’d not included many from before she’d left. She wondered at the ones he had included – the beach, Bae’s first steps, Bae at only a year old with cookie crumbs all down his front. Maybe it had been an oversight. Maybe it had been a pointed attempt to remind her how suddenly she’d been gone from their lives: there and laughing one day, gone the next.

Belle was ready to close the box up to keep everything inside safe, when something gleaming in the bottom corner caught her eye. Carefully, she reached in and felt her fingers brush cool metal. Her face crumpled as she realised what she was holding.

“You bastard,” she murmured, tremulously, holding the ring up to the light. It was as beautiful as she remembered. Two intertwined gold bands holding a heart-shaped diamond, elegant and classic and _unwanted_ : her engagement ring. “You absolute bastard.”

If the photographs had sparked in her soul, then that ring lit a welcome fire in Belle’s chest.

Things back then had been odd between them since that day at the beach: she hadn’t been to the ocean since college, two years previous, and had forgotten how easily the smell of the sea and the long band of the horizon could spark her wanderlust. It had felt very domestic to be there with Cam and Bae, and everyone had taken them for parents. Cam had talked about coming back the next year, about making it a regular thing, and for the first time she had felt trapped. She’d come home in an odd mood, not wanting to talk about it.

Only a few days after, Will had called and told her he was preparing to go back to England in the autumn, and invited her along.

It had been raining, the day she told Cam she was leaving: a wet, cold, grey September day that told all of Maine that the summer was over, and that they’d seen the last of the sun.

\---

_“I have to talk to you about something,” she said, and she could see the unease in Cam’s careworn face when he looked up from his documents and met her eyes. He could tell something was wrong: she hadn’t eaten a full meal in days, and she knew he noticed that. He noticed everything._

_“Oh?” he frowned, rising to his feet when she didn’t take a seat beside him. “Whatever is the matter, sweetheart?”_

_“Cam, I…” she took a deep breath, and summoned all of her courage. This was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but that didn’t make it any less important. “Will is going back to England in two weeks,” she said. “I… I’m going with him.”_

_“Will…” his eyes flashed, narrowed. “For how long?”_

_“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But, Cam, you know I’ve been planning to travel. That’s why I’ve been saving, you know? And I just feel like if I don’t go now, then I never will. There’s a whole world out there and if I stay here I’ll miss it.”_

_“And leave us?” Cam’s eyes were stricken, disbelieving, “You’d… you’d leave Bae?”_

_“I don’t have to!” Belle said quickly, taking his hand in both of hers. She smiled up at him, hopeful, desperate. “You could come with me! We could go all three of us!”_

_He looked at her like she was insane, “Bae’s not yet three,” he said. “And my whole livelihood is here. He needs a settled home; he’ll start school in a few years. I’m too old and he’s too young to give you the adventures you seek. But we could have an adventure right here, our life together…”_

_“I have to go,” she said, her head ducking, unable to meet his eyes, “With or without you.” She’d known he would make this hard. She’d known he would cling on, incapable of letting her go. That was why she hadn’t mentioned it in so long, ever since their relationship had gotten serious. She hadn’t wanted to face his wounded eyes, his mounting sense of betrayal. She hadn’t wanted to hear him say no, and know for sure there was no future, that his dreams mattered more to him than hers. It hurt too much to contemplate, and worse: it made her doubt herself._

_“You’ll come back?” he asked, hoarsely, tangling his fingers in hers. His eyes rested there, on their hands: they didn’t meet her steady gaze. “Belle?” his brows drew together and she saw the panic in his eyes, the terror and the loss. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him everything, to spill out every reason she had, everything she’d been keeping bottled up for fear of scaring him or worse._

_She took a deep breath, trying to think of how to start. But the words died on her lips. How was she supposed to share more than a decade of wishing and hoping in the space of a few sentences? Why should she have to defend the promises she’d made, the dreams that had kept her alive when she’d had nothing else, all but abandoned, friendless and motherless in a new land? She loved him, she loved Bae, he knew that. She knew he knew that._

_“I’ll come back,” she said at last. “I just have to do this, you know? For me. It won’t be forever.”_

_“Then…” something flashed in his eyes, wild and hopeful and not entirely kind, and Belle’s heart raced in her chest as she saw him reach into his pocket, and pull out a terrible little black box. “I think I’ll hold you to that.”_

_“Cam, what is that?” she asked, desperately, hoping against hope it was earrings, a necklace, a goddamned pipe bomb, anything but what she knew it had to be._

_“You claim to love me, and Bae,” he said, his measured tone barely masking the desperation in his eyes. “Prove it. Agree to marry me upon your return.”_

_“Cam, please,” she breathed, terror and grief and an awful sense of betrayal settling in the pit of her stomach. He flipped the box open: a ring, perfectly sized and truly beautiful. It was the sort of ring she would have dreamed of, if she had been the type of woman to dream of weddings. For Belle, it was a nightmare come to life. It was everything she had dreaded, every time she’d opened her mouth to give voice to her dreams and found her tongue heavy and silent with fear. “Please don’t do this to me.”_

_He was staring at her, and she could see the hurt in his eyes, see the terrible, lacerated wound she’d created with her horrified words. She couldn’t take them back. She couldn’t claim not to mean them. She meant every word._

_“Don’t leave us, then,” he begged her, suddenly cut open and raw, his eyes ravaged. “Please, Belle, please...”_

_“Come with me!” she tried again. “We can have both! Bae can grow up with us, on the road-”_

_“I can’t,” he shook his head, stepping back, fear and anger clouding his beloved face. “We can’t. I’m a cripple, Belle, and Bae’s an infant. We belong here, where it’s safe.”_

_“But I don’t,” she said. “I can’t live my whole life in Storybrooke, Cam! That’s not my idea of a happy ending.”_

_“You mean_ we’re _not,” he said, softly. Belle felt something important crack in her chest._

_“I didn’t say that!” she cried, although she knew it was a far cry from a denial. “I just can’t spend the rest of my life in this town, no matter who I’m with. I love you, and I love Bae, of course I do. But there’s a whole world out there, Cam, and I’ve been waiting to see it my whole life.” His eyes flickered but his mouth remained that same firm, implacable line. He didn’t budge; he appeared unmoved by her pleas. “But you know that,” she said. “You know I’m not ready to be your wife, or Bae’s mother, not now. So why are you asking me to promise that one day I will be?”_

_He remained silent, eyes steady, watching her._

_“You won’t come with me, but you don’t trust me to come back on my own,” she realised, reality punching her in the stomach, winding her. Even knowing him, loving him as she did, Belle hadn’t truly thought he could do this: ransom her future, at the price of their family; make this an all or nothing choice. Worse still, he thought that given the choice, he could force her to forfeit her dreams for the sake of his comfort._

_Stubbornness, anger, and a terrible sense of betrayal welled in Belle’s chest, and she sputtered, unable to give true voice to her frantic heart and the sickness in her soul. “Without… without something to force me back, you don’t trust me to come home to you? You’d rather trap me than trust me?”_

_“I can’t take the chance,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Belle, but if you leave now… well, I expect I’ll never see you again.”_

\---

That had been the moment when her soul had detached itself from Storybrooke, from him, from Bae, from the whole life she might have had here. She’d felt herself step aside, away, and every word thereafter had been a final, clawing attempt to get back to how she’d felt mere moments ago: desperately in love, undecided, resolved to return.

That ring might as well have been an iron shackle and his home a dungeon, for all the freedom Belle felt slipping away from her in that moment. The world had done a nosedive into hell from then onward, and this ring had been the starting pistol. This ring had turned him from that soft, sweet lover into the cold hard villain who’d turned her father against her and injured her protector.

She was out of the door in moments, barely remembering to turn the sign to ‘closed’ on her way out. The shop was only a few minutes’ walk down the street, but Belle didn’t even register the cold September wind on her arms, or the pavement beneath her marching feet. She stormed into the shop without a word of greeting, and Gold looked up from his paperwork with his eyebrows high.

“And what can I do for you?” he asked, rudely. “I gave you what you wanted. Our bargain is done.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” she told him, and resisted the urge to throw the accursed ring at Gold’s head. Instead, she slammed it down on the counter, but she couldn’t avoid the violence of the gesture either way.

“Ah,” he murmured, his eyes on the little ring of gold and diamond watching them both with a winking, accusatory eye. “I… was _unaware_ that… that had ended up in that particular box,” he told her, his voice neutral and cold, showing neither victory nor remorse. “Thank you for returning it to me.”

“You were unaware?” she demanded, “So this wasn’t an intentional campaign to emotionally torture me?”

“You wanted pictures and memories from Bae’s childhood,” Gold reminded her, coolly. “I provided them. You know as well as anyone, Miss French, how I keep to the letter of my deals. This is not a memory associated with my son. Therefore, it did not belong in that box.”

“Good, then,” Belle nodded, brought up a little short by his easy acquiescence, even if he had skirted the edge of an all-out apology. “That’s not a memory I wanted to relive.”

“No,” he said. “I’d imagine not. You’re not seeking to pawn it, then?” he asked, with that cruel smile she knew so well and hated so much, his eyes on the ring. “I can tell you exactly what that little item is worth. I did, after all, purchase it myself.”

She bristled, her hackles rising, the deep sadness of before replaced by crackling anger. “You can’t blame me,” she said, her voice simmering with resentment, with pain. “Not for that. That isn’t fair, and you know it.”

He just shrugged, and took the ring between his fingers, turning it over and over, with a thoughtful expression. “You said no,” he reminded her, softly, without looking up at her. “It was entirely your decision. I can blame you all I like for that.”

Belle swallowed her retort, possessing neither the strength nor the inclination for a full on fight. He was right, after all: it had been her decision, and she didn’t regret making it. She wasn’t ready to be a wife or a mother at that moment in her life. Not permanently, not _legally_.

She turned on her heel, and marched for the door, unable and unwilling to look at him a moment longer. She didn’t see him sigh, his shoulders dropping, the ring slipped into his pocket. She didn’t see it, and so she didn’t have to know that the look on his face was a mirror for the haggard, haunted expression from the photograph of Bae’s third birthday. She didn’t have to admit to how badly she wanted to hold him in that moment, or how much he then resembled the man she had loved so very, very much.

She was at the door when she finally, belatedly, found her hard-won bravery, and turned to him with a final question. “Why was it in that box?” she asked, “If it wasn’t supposed to be?”

“We all need our mementos, do we not?” Gold replied, softly, his dark eyes boring into hers with a gentle sadness at odds with the violence of their interactions thus far. “You need a box with Bae’s things. Would it surprise you to know that I once made a similar box, filled with yours?”

“You have a… _Belle_ box?” she asked, her heart in her throat, her voice barely above a strained, impossible whisper. He nodded, slowly, gauging her reaction.

“You left a great many things in my home, dearie,” he told her. “Things I kept after you left. I couldn’t…” his expression twisted, pained. “I couldn’t see myself clear to throwing them in the landfill, but you understand I couldn’t look at them either. They found their way into a box much like the one now in your possession. The ring must have gotten caught up somewhere, when I searched for things to add to the one I gave to you.”

“You… have a Belle box,” Belle murmured, unable to process the emotional whiplash, the stark difference between his snarling, cruel unpleasantness of just moments ago, and the soft, achingly sad dark eyes that watched her now. His eyes had always been such a problem for her, so rich and deep, pulling her in, holding her in orbit.

“Would you like those things back?” he asked her, as if it pained him to do so. His gaze begged her to say no, for reasons she could not fathom. She shook her head.

“I have no place for them,” she replied, and it was almost the truth. “And… they belonged to someone else. Someone who lived a long time ago.”

“We were all different people, long ago,” he said, and for a moment the silence stretched between them, odd and soft and warm, not entirely comfortable. They had once been so easy with one another, so full of understanding and grace. Belle had once fancied she could tell every thought in his head simply from the expression in his warm brown eyes. In this moment, it was so easy to remember why she had loved him so much. He almost looked like the man he’d been when they were together, the man she had adored with everything she was.

And yet, this was also the man who had come to her father that night, and told him all her secrets. This was the man who had called her his whore, his little traitor, and driven her father so wild with rage that he’d thrown her out into the street, her body protected from his fists only by Will’s presence as witness. This was the man who’d hunted Will down when he heard he’d taken her in, and beat him half to death with his cane.

This was the man who had burned down her life when she tried to leave him. The man she’d loved was still in there somewhere, but this stone-faced stranger was her enemy. She couldn’t forget that, not for a moment.

She missed her soft-eyed, warm-hearted lover. She missed him so much that for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t help but hope, just for a second, that maybe that man could return someday: the man whose heart she had broken with her leaving, the man who kept a box of her things and loved his son.

The moment stretched between them, warm and intense, until finally Belle couldn’t stand it anymore. She looked down, away, and turned again to leave.

“Goodbye, Mr Gold,” she said, taking some small comfort at least in the distance created by formality. He inclined his head, his jaw clenched.

“Goodbye, Miss French.”

The bell rang and the door clacked as she closed it behind her. Belle took a deep, shuddering breath, and returned to the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a truce is called


	7. Moratorium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who wanted a happy flashback and/or something nice between Belle and Gold, here’s your glimmer of hope :)

The walk to the Nolans’ house from Gold’s shop really couldn’t have been more convenient.

If Gold walked along Main, he passed Granny’s diner, the realtor’s office, and then through the sleepy streets beyond, the homes of most of his tenants. Walking from work to collect his son allowed him to cover most of his errands along the way. He could even stop at the small grocery store if he needed something for dinner.

It was this route he elected to take the afternoon he finished drawing up the planning documents for the Nolans’ extension.

He was unsurprised when, on his now-regular check at the realtor’s office, he found yet again that the French property remained in limbo. There were two offers on it now – there had been for over a week, in fact, not that it changed much – his own obscenely high offer, and an insultingly low bid by the city council’s office. What Regina thought she was doing, trying to swindle a woman like Belle French, Gold had no idea. Belle had her faults – a thousand of them, and Gold knew them all intimately – but she was no fool, no matter how hard up she was.

But, he thought as he left the office, his usual dark cloud looming over his head, she might be stubborn enough to settle for such a low offer simply to spite him. After all, the sum Regina offered was a pittance, but what did that matter to a woman whose worldly possessions fit in a duffle bag? The money would certainly buy her a year or two on the road, and that was always all that Belle had cared for.

That Belle might accept was one thing; that Regina knew to offer so low was quite another. For all it had been explosive, insane, all-consuming and soul-draining at its end, the two of them had been successful in keeping their two-year relationship a secret. Everyone had known she babysat Bae often, and worked a few hours on busy days at the shop to earn cash her father couldn’t afford to pay her, but they’d never dreamed such a bright, beautiful young woman would consent to a relationship with a gnarled old monster. They’d gone to great lengths to maintain that illusion. So much so, he thought, that the relationship had cracked under the weight of the lies that sustained it.

The worst choice had been allowing her to pretend to date that leather-clad whelp who’d had the audacity to fall in love with her. The moment Will Scarlet came on the scene Gold should have known the end was near.

He had seemed so innocent at first, an old friend of Belle’s from university, come to take a job at the local lumber mill. Belle had been overjoyed to have a friend around, and when her father had caught on to her being in a relationship, he had been the obvious choice for a cover story. They would spend time conspicuously in public, hold hands and be the perfect young couple, and Belle would have an automatic excuse whenever she was staying over after babysitting. Gold, a foolish old man helplessly in love with her, would have agreed to anything to make Belle happy. He’d trusted her to be the mature, honourable, faithful person he believed her to be. He had paid for that mistake.

That last summer, he had known something was wrong. The stupid boy had started making cow-eyes at her and invited her away with him, and Belle, young and fickle as she was, had fallen for it; hook, line and sinker.

Gold had always wondered if it would have hurt so much if Mila hadn’t left in exactly the same way: in the passenger seat of a younger man’s car, headed for the horizon, leaving Gold and his son behind in the dust.

The only upshot was that he was certain that no one had known. And after their last encounter, he was certain Belle wouldn’t have been spreading their dirty laundry around either. So how the hell did Regina know that Belle would stall on his offer?

Maybe she just knew the history he’d had with Moe, and assumed filial piety on Belle’s part. Considering what had happened between himself and the oafish old florist, it wouldn’t have been unthinkable that Belle would refuse to sell the place to him, especially considering no one knew the truth of how Moe had acquired the shop from Gold in the first place. He comforted himself with that, pulled his hidden information around himself like a fortress and took a breath. That had to be it: Regina knew the animosity that had hung between himself and Moe, and assumed Belle was following father’s example. That Belle had been the reason for the all-out hostility between the two men following her departure was a secret Gold held close to his chest.

He wished he could say Belle was smarter than to let petty feelings rule commerce, but he knew her too well for that. She had a deep, unsettling emotionalism that dictated her every action, and drove her to blunder through the world without caution or restraint. She hated him, and she would let Regina take advantage of that hate because it mattered more to her than the realities of the situation.

That her deep trust of her own feelings, her empathy and her quick compassion, had been the reason she’d been able to draw so close to him and Bae in the first place mattered little. She’d withdrawn just as fast, just as suddenly. She had left him standing cold and alone with a rejected ring in his hand, a whole bright future shredded at his feet.

That same ring sat heavily now in his pocket, liberated from its dusty home in his sentimental box of her things by pure chance, and blown back to him by Belle herself. She couldn’t stand to look at it, not then and not now. As if a future with him had been so sickening she couldn’t think of it: as if she’d never loved him at all. At least his feelings had never been in doubt: he had loved her absolutely, and it had taken years before that love had finally died for good and left this bitterness in its wake.

Gold walked heavily, his cane hitting the sidewalk with a steady thud, wrapped up in his bleak thoughts. It was only when he reached Granny’s and heard the voices of others that he was broken out of his gloom, and remembered he’d promised Bae burgers and fries for dinner as a reward for cleaning his bedroom the day previous.

It was nearly six, he reasoned, late enough for dinner. He could order the food now, and come back to collect it with Bae in tow on his way home from the Nolans’.

Granny gave him the glare she always levelled his way whenever he appeared without his son by his side. “You’re early for the rent,” she barked, and he shook his head, holding up a placating hand.

“Rent day’s not until Friday, as you well know,” he said, evenly. “As it’s only Wednesday, I’m only here to eat.”

He barely registered anyone else around them: they didn’t matter, they had nothing he wanted or needed, and certainly no one would try to get his attention. He didn’t notice, therefore, the woman perched on the stool down from him, her eyes locked on her pancakes, her whole body stiff.

Granny, however, did: her eyes broke off their suspicious glaring momentarily to eye the woman at the counter. “You’re gonna burn a hole in those if you don’t stop staring,” she remarked, with a gentleness that had been absent a moment ago. “Come on girl, you need to eat.”

Gold turned to regard whomever it was Granny had deemed so much more worthy of attention than a paying customer, and started. Belle was staring miserably at her plate, her shoulders hunched.

He hadn’t noticed before – well, he had, but he hadn’t let himself care – how small she was these days. When screaming at him in his shop or lording over her little library kingdom, Belle was like a hurricane, devastating and unstoppable. But Granny’s comment was ringing in his ears, and an unpleasant memory occurred, an intimate detail from another life that he wished he’d long forgotten.

Belle didn’t eat when she was unhappy.

Stress, anxiety, fear, grief, they all brought it on, and it took a lot of coaxing and kindness to relax her and bring back her appetite. That had once been his job: he’d been the one to put a plate of food before her and convince her to try, when her father had been a bully; when her friends had been cruel; on the anniversary of her mother’s death.

He’d placed her thinness down to muscle from the road and sporadic living, no time to sit down in one place and spread out, but now he wondered… now he had to wonder if she’d really been as happy as she’d given out.

But then, Belle’s father had just died, and she was trapped in her dreary hometown without the money to leave just yet, and here he was, lingering around her like a bad smell. For the first time, the thought of causing Belle pain didn’t bring any satisfaction, or sense of victory. Instead, he had the absurd urge to back away from her, to leave as if he’d never been there in the first place, and let her grieve in peace.

“She’ll do better without you breathing down her neck!” Granny scolded, and he was jolted from his stricken contemplation by a stern glare. He rather thought she’d have a weapon pulled on him, if she had a crossbow to hand.

“It’s fine, Granny,” Belle said, softly, startling them both. “Mr Gold has as much right to be here as I do.”

“You’re a guest,” the old woman sniffed. “He’s…”

“The man who owns this fine establishment?” he finished. Granny bristled.

“I won’t have you upsetting my kin,” she spat. “If you’re here to order, I’ll fetch it and you can be on your way.”

“I’m really alright, Granny,” Belle soothed, taking a mouthful of pancake and swallowing it down as if to demonstrate. “See? I’m just lost in my thoughts, don’t worry.”

“What can I get you?” Granny asked him, and Gold sighed. Straight to business, then

“Two large cheeseburgers with fries, extra pickle on one and none on the other-“

“So the usual, then?” Granny raised an eyebrow, and Gold nodded.

“Indeed, the usual, thank you,” he attempted a smile but only got to a grimace, and handed over the money without comment. Granny accepted, put it through the till, and then looked back at him.

“It’ll be done in fifteen,” she told him, a clear dismissal. “We’ll keep it warm for half an hour after.”

“Thank you, dear,” he said, and Granny muttered something under her breath and bustled away.

“I…. haven’t seen you in here,” Belle said, quietly, when Granny had disappeared off into the back. “I didn’t think you would have a usual.”

“I haven’t been in in a while,” he admitted, not adding the reason why. She was staying in the inn, and a close friend of the proprietor’s granddaughter. This was hostile territory, and if it hadn’t been for his promise to Bae, he’d have passed it by altogether.

“The other burger’s for Bae?” she asked, then. “I’m guessing he’s the one that hates pickle.”

A weight settled in his stomach as he regarded her, her intentions clear as day on her face. She was hungry for information, for any titbit he’d give her about his son or their life together. Any little part of Bae he could spare, as if he hadn’t already given her far more than she deserved.

He just watched her, steadily, and he saw the tremulous bravery in her eyes crumble. She gave a sad, hopeless little laugh, and sighed, “Come on, Cam,” she said. “I’m… I’m trying to talk like a person here.”

“Why?” he asked, frowning, her nervous use of his given name sparking his suspicion yet further. “I believe we’ve said all we need to say to one another.”

“We live in the same town,” she said. “Your son loves the library, and the food here apparently, and I work in one and live in the other. We can’t avoid each other… and I don’t want to part as enemies, when the time comes. Not again. Regardless of all the yelling, I’d hate for us to part on bad terms.”

“And you believe I share that desire, do you?” he asked, the defensive words biting out before he could stop them. Gold winced when Belle flinched.

“Forget it, then,” she said, hunching her brittle shoulders. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Gold watched as she curled up into herself, her eyes back on her plate, defeated. How was it that even after her betrayal, five years of silence and heartbreak, and all the pain she’d put him through, the sight of her so small and broken could have such a devastating effect?

He reached out a helpless hand, but she neither saw nor felt it, and he withdrew a moment later. It was better this way, he insisted to himself. Better for them all that not even civility lay between them.

The unwelcome thought occurred that if she had sought him out upon her return instead of hiding away, if she apologised, or even if she expressed a desire to return to them for good, that he might feel different. He shuddered to realise that all his fierce hatred and bitterness could prove to be paper-thin, if she were just to try and break it down.

He swallowed hard, and straightened his shoulders, forcing such a ridiculous notion back to the dark recesses of his subconscious where it belonged. He had a good forty minutes still to collect Bae and get back to the diner. He had to be on his way.

He left without another word to her, and if he saw her head jerk up at the sound of the bell over the door as he left, or felt her eyes following his retreating back, then he didn’t react.

Gold skipped his other errands, desperate to just hold his son and forget his dark thoughts. He was gratified by the speed at which Bae’s little body flung into his arms the moment David opened the door, and he held him tight and close, burying his face in his son’s curls. For a moment, he could forget that anything or anyone existed outside of this moment, just him and Bae, and no one else to hurt them.

Then reality intruded, as it always did, this time in the guise of a seven-year-old in a homemade dragon costume, roaring at him from the top of the stairs. “DON’T WORRY BAE!” Emma screamed, charging at full pelt down the stairs and toward the front door, “I’LL RESCUE YOU!”

She was headed directly for Gold’s kneecaps, and Gold was grateful when, just before Emma’s foam sword made contact with his bad leg, her father caught her by her felt tail and hauled her back. “Easy kiddo,” David laughed, scooping his progeny up and out of the way. “Mr Gold’s not the villain.”

Gold almost laughed at that: how many in town would sign that petition?

“Miss Nolan,” he looked down at the growling child, still gnashing her teeth and making Bae laugh hysterically. “Are you a dragon, or a knight?”

Indeed, she appeared to have the two roles confused: she wore a homemade lurid green dragon onesie, but she’d paired it with a knight’s helmet, a plastic silver chest plate and a foam sword, as if trying to be both at once. “She couldn’t pick,” David shrugged, “So we let her be both.”

“Where in God’s name did she get the costume?” Gold wondered, and David shrugged.

“One of the moms at the school was doing costumes for their winter play,” David explained, removing his daughter’s visor carefully, and easing the sword from her hand. “Her daughter Lily’s in Emma’s class, so the dragon phase has reached new heights.”

“And what about you, lad?” Gold looked down at his own son, patiently holding his father’s hand and watching Emma’s antics with a broad grin. Bae looked up at Gold, and Gold couldn’t help the wave of affection that once again consumed him at the trust and love in his son’s dark eyes. “Are you a dragon too?”

Surprisingly, Bae shook his head. “I’m Lawrence,” Bae confided, quietly. “I’m a Captain.”

And, sure enough, on a pile of children’s clothing by the television set Gold could see a little Naval hat and a telescope. Well, he thought, it was better than the dragon thing, so long as Bae didn’t get any bright ideas about joining the Marines when he was older.

“Do you and Emma want five more minutes together?” he asked the two of them, and Emma, who had clearly been sad to see her playmate go, nodded fervently for both of them.

“Come on Bae!” she cried, before Gold could change his mind, and grabbed Bae’s hand, pulling him back off toward their toys.

“I brought the documents,” he explained to David. “If your wife is here, we can go over them and get everything up to date.”

“Sounds great,” David smiled, and called for Mary Margaret, who appeared a moment later.

The documents were simple enough, a basic update to the tenancy agreement and a few planning consents, nothing difficult. In fact, those forms had been ready within a day of Gold’s conversation with David: the extra week it had taken had been to draw up the final contract.

When the Nolans read it, Gold was ready for their gasp of surprise. “Mr Gold?” Mary Margaret asked, timidly. “I… are you sure about this?”

“Of course,” Gold shrugged. “I never put anything in writing I’m not sure about.”

“But… we can’t accept this,” she insisted, shaking her head, although Gold knew with another baby on the way what he offered was a Godsend.

“I’m not offering to pay anyone upfront, Mrs Nolan,” he stipulated. “All I’m doing is offering a rent reduction to accommodate the increased property value your work will bring. You’re spending your money to upgrade my building, it’s only fair that you’re compensated somewhat.”

“Well, be that as it may, this is still… this is very generous, Mr Gold,” Mary Margaret beamed at him, and for a moment, a brief moment, Gold actually felt the warmth of having done something good for someone else. It was a novel feeling: he wasn’t sure if he wanted to photograph it for posterity, or to make sure and kick a puppy on the way home to balance the scales. “If there’s anything we can do for you, just let us know.”

“I…” he paused for a moment, his eyes on Bae and Emma through the door to the living room, considering the proposition. He could prevent Bae from returning to the Library when they were together, but Bae spent as much time with the Nolans during the week as he did at home, and he couldn’t watch him then. “There might be one, small thing,” he hedged, and saw Mary Margaret’s kind interest contrast with her husband’s sudden suspicion.

“Oh?” David asked, “And what might that be?”

“Would you just… keep my son away from the library?” he asked, after a moment. “I understand it’s an odd request, and in no way does it affect the agreement before us,” he gestured to the papers strewn on the Nolans dining room table. “But you did ask.”

“I suppose… we could take Emma when Bae’s not with us?” Mary Margaret was watching him with an unaccustomed perceptiveness, and Gold wondered for just a moment if he’d been somehow figured out. “If you’d prefer? I thought he was enjoying the books, though?”

“I can buy books for him myself,” Gold told her, smoothly, grateful to have her unquestioning consent on the matter. It was amazing what an offer of increased financial security could do to quiet a person’s suspicions. “Do I have your word, then?” he pressed, and the couple watched him for a moment, as if considering telepathically.

“Alright,” David nodded, at last. “I don’t get it, but fine. You’ve done a good thing for us so we’ll do you a solid in return. Bae won’t go to the library with us.”

“Thank you,” Gold smiled, a weight off his chest, and nodded. “Now, if you wish you can have Mr King look over these,” his lip curled at the mention of the only other practicing lawyer in town, the repugnant George King who all but went out of his way to spite him at every opportunity. “Or I can take them right now.”

“I’m sure they’re great,” Mary Margaret said, and he resisted the urge to laugh aloud at her guilelessness: one day he’d slip in a clause granting him ownership of their firstborn, and he was sure they’d sign it anyway. “Thank you, Mr Gold.”

“You’re very welcome, Mrs Nolan,” he smiled, and stood, shaking her hand, and then David’s, “Mr Nolan.”

“Gold,” David inclined his head. Gold smiled, for once with a little genuine warmth, and called for Bae. His son, as soon as he’d disentangled himself from what appeared to be a skipping rope tied to the staircase, ran toward him willingly.

They left a few minutes later, hand-in-hand, Gold’s chest lighter for the knowledge he had the Nolans on his side.

Belle was thankfully gone from the diner by the time they returned, and so Gold could collect their dinner in peace, without the weight of her sad blue eyes on his dusty conscience. He and Bae had a nice evening together, watching television, eating burgers re-warmed in the oven, and even playing a couple of rounds of snap before it was time for bed.

“Can you read for me, papa?” Bae asked, as Gold tucked him in. “I think we’re almost done.”

Gold nodded, and pulled out _Throne of Jade_ , the second of Bae’s now-favourite dragon series. Bae was right: they were on the last chapter.

“You’ll be asleep before we finish,” Gold warned, “and then you won’t know how it ends.”

“I can stay up, papa,” Bae promised, around a yawn. “I know I can.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Gold smiled, gently. “I’ll make you a deal, eh? If you can’t stay awake until the end of the book, you’ll read the rest tomorrow night, okay?”

“What if I do stay awake?”

“Then you know how it ends, and I’ll get you the next one tomorrow,” he promised, not realising what he was saying. “Alright?”

“Alright papa,” Bae nodded, and they shook hands, formally, before Bae dissolved into giggles. “The Lady says the next one is amazing!” Bae added. Gold busied himself collecting the book from the bedside table, and settling into his armchair. He didn’t want to ratify Bae’s hero-worship any more than he had to.

And so, Gold read. He was impressed: for all Bae yawned and shifted and looked ready to sleep, when he finished the final page, he looked up and his son’s eyes were still fixed on his in rapt attention.

“Thank you, papa,” Bae smiled, sleepily, and Gold’s heart clenched in adoration. “Next one tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Gold promised, and only then did the weight of that word sink in. He kissed his son goodnight, and unwound his sleepy arms from his neck.

“Papa?” Bae said, when Gold was at the door.

“Yes, Bae?”

“The Lady says books are magic,” Bae said, and Gold’s heart stopped in his throat. “She says they take you to other worlds. Is that true?”

“Miss Belle says a great many things,” Gold replied, stiffly. “Sleep now, Bae.”

“’Kay,” he mumbled, heavy with sleep. “Night papa.”

“Night, Bae.”

Gold made his way downstairs with a sinking heart, only now realising what he’d done. The only place he’d be able to get the next book in the series by tomorrow night was the Library. Amazon wouldn’t deliver all the way out to Storybrooke that fast, and Gold wasn’t so afraid of running into his ex-girlfriend that he’d miss a whole day of work to drive to the next town over and hope their tiny bookstore had what he needed. He’d slip in at lunchtime, check the book out with a minimum of fuss, and be gone in five minutes. He wouldn’t let her force him to break a deal with his son.

Still, his heart was in his throat, ridiculous as that was, when he left the shop the next day at twelve-thirty and made his way up the street. It was all but empty when he entered, silent, and for a moment – a wonderful moment – he thought Belle might have gone for lunch. Maybe he could just take the book and leave with a note on the counter saying where it had gone, and not have to face her at all.

He’d been unaccountably rude to her the day before, he was aware of that. He’d burned her proffered olive branch to cinders. But then, he wasn’t a kind man, nor a nice one, and that of all things he knew she knew about him. He’d always been a difficult man to love. Even Belle, who prided herself on seeing the good in everything, had been unable to manage it in the end.

“Good afte- oh,” Belle stopped in her tracks, her chirpy greeting dying on her lips. “Um, hi Ca- Mr Gold,” she stumbled, caught off guard.

\---

_Gold owned a key to the property – to every property he owned, in fact – and let himself in the back of the florist’s shop. Belle was potting plants, a smidge of dirt on her dainty nose, her brow furrowed with concentration. He snuck up behind her, and she was so lost in her work that she didn’t hear the tap of his cane on the soil-strewn floor. He Gold caught her about the waist and drew her in close, her back to his chest._

_“Cam!” Belle cried with surprise, and Gold grinned, delighted to have surprised her. He kissed the back of her neck, and tickled her ribs. “You shouldn’t be here!” Belle giggled, batting at his hands. “Papa will see you!”_

_“Nonsense,” Gold snorted, stilling his hands as she settled hers over them at her waist. “Mayor Mills’ repugnant sister is in town, and she’s insisting on an all-green bouquet for some unlucky gentleman. He’ll be distracted for a while yet.”_

_“All green?” Belle frowned, looking up at him, craning her neck “Wha-“ he cut her off mid-sentence with a deep kiss, and she melted into his arms, turning to face him properly and crossing her wrists behind his neck. She let him coax her lips apart, moaning softly into his mouth. They kissed for long minutes, until a voice from the front room startled her and she broke away._

_“If he catches us together I don’t know what he’ll do,” she said, her eyes on the doorway, a trace of genuine fear in her voice. Not for the first time, Gold wondered what the hell Moe had done to make his bright, brave daughter so afraid of his displeasure. She never talked about it, but Gold had his suspicions._

_“I just wanted to see you,” he told her, finally releasing her. He missed her warm, soft body in his arms the moment she was away. Her smile was pure sunshine, delighted and adoring._

_“I’ll be over later,” she said. “Will’s going to pretend to take me to the cinema then back to his place, and pick up an extra shift instead. He'll drop me off around seven.”_

_Gold swallowed at the mention of the other man, but nothing much could dampen his joy at the thought of a whole night to together. If Will Scarlet was the price he paid, then so be it._

_“I look forward to it,” he said, stealing another quick kiss from her smiling lips. “I love you.”_

_“I love you too,” she said. “Now go!”_

\---

The memory died as quickly as it had come, and Gold was left shaking, staring at her, wondering how the hell he had ever thought he could be neutral toward her. Belle French was a hurricane, and she caught up everyone in her game of all or nothing, love or hate, despair or ecstasy, life or death.

He brandished Throne of Jade like a shield before him, “Bae finished this,” he explained. “I promised I’d find him the third.”

“I was under the impression you’d be buying them from now on,” she said, a little stiffly. “I had an interesting conversation this morning.”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, wondering who among his horde of detractors had seen fit to slander him. “Who with, pray tell?”

“I need your word you won’t punish anyone for this,” she said, tightly. “I… I need to know no one will be harmed in any way if I tell you.”

“Ah, Miss French,” he smiled, a shark’s smile, easy and poisonous. “You have such little faith in me.”

“I _know_ you, Mr Gold,” she retorted. “And I know what you’re capable of. Do we have a deal?”

“Information for a promise of no retribution?” he asked, mildly, deciding to humour her. “You have my word,” he vowed, and she nodded.

“Mary Margaret Nolan was in this morning with her class,” she told him, at last. “I asked after Emma, she said how much she and Bae love the library, and what a shame it was that Bae wouldn't be coming back. I asked further but she clammed up - I don't think she meant to tell me, she was distracted by the kids."

"Mrs Nolan has a big mouth," Gold muttered. Belle's eyes narrowed.

"She didn't intend to say anything," Belle replied. "I don't think Bae's sick, or somehow allergic to books."

"Indeed not," Gold agreed. 

"You banned her from bringing him here, didn't you?" she demanded. He shrugged.

 

“I already banned you from seeing him, dearie,” Gold spread his hands. “He’s getting his books, and I’m sure the school will bring him once or twice. Who knows, if he asks nicely I might even do the honours. But if Emma Nolan becomes your acolyte, I don’t want my son following suit.”

“You think I’m _that_ dangerous to him?” Belle demanded. “He barely knows me!”

“He _venerates_ you!” he exploded, his confusion, fear, anger, desperation, all of it coming to the surface in one short cry, and Belle stopped and stared at him, aghast. “You and your kindness and your beauty and your books. You give him magic and imagination and sweet smiles and all the softer things I’m so very _lacking_ in, of _course_ he adores you already. Who knows? Maybe he even has some residual memory of how you doted on him as a baby. But we’ve been here before, Belle. And you said yourself you were planning to leave again. Is it so wrong for me to protect him from that sudden loss, to want to taper it? The less he sees of you, the less he can miss you later.”

“It wasn’t him I hurt when I left,” Belle replied, cutting him to the heart with a few short words. He saw the misty look in her eyes, the softness she always wore when she saw right through him. It tore him apart. “He wasn’t three yet, Cam. He didn’t know to miss me, and he grew up fine without me. Stop pretending this is about him.”

“He’s the one you care about,” said Gold, ignoring her accusation, how close she'd hit to home. “And the one _I_ care about. He’s all we have in common anymore, so how can this be about anything else?”

She regarded him, carefully, and took the book from his hands at last, stamping it back in and placing it in the pile of books she had to put back on the shelves. “I meant what I said yesterday, you know,” she said then. “I don’t want to be your enemy. I want us to… find a way past this.”

“Is there a way past it?” he asked, staring at her, unable to fathom how she could have such hopes even now.

“You said yourself we’re no longer the people we were back then,” Belle shrugged. “Maybe we could try to act like it? Put all that emotional baggage on the shelf and try and remember we used to like one another?”

“A truce?” he asked, sceptically. She nodded.

“A truce,” she agreed, and she even mustered a smile. “And in that spirit, I’m not charging you a fine on the _Oresteia_ translation which you’ve had for well over a month now.”

Guiltily, he thought back to the Greek tragedy camped at his bedside. He’d finished it a week ago, but never thought to return it.

“That’s… generous of you, Miss French,” he said. She inclined her head.

“Is that how we’re going to do it now?” she asked. “Mr Gold and Miss French?”

“What else would you suggest?” he asked, helplessly. “No one… you know no one uses my forename. It seems overly personal now.”

“Well, you can at least call me Belle,” she said, firmly. “I mean, everyone already does, so it isn’t a stretch. And it feels a little less stilted and passive-aggressive, you know? The bank calls me Miss French.”

“You of all people know I’m never _passive_ -aggressive,” he reminded her. “It’s full _active_ aggression or bust.”

He managed to startle a laugh from her, and only in hearing it did Gold realise how deep in his bones he had missed that sound. It wasn’t the polite chuckle he’d heard once or twice from her talking to others since her return, but her full-throated laughter, the kind he’d used to be so adept at inspiring. It brought a very small smile to his own lips as well. That had been one of his favourite sounds in the world, once upon a time. He wasn’t as sure as he wanted to be that it wasn’t still in the top ten.

“Go hard or go home,” Belle agreed, nodding, her eyes dancing. “That sounds about right.”

“Any other rules?” he asked, and she considered.

“I… I don’t think talking about… about what happened with us is a good idea anymore, do you?” she asked, hesitantly. “We just seem to upset one another.”

“A moratorium on the past, then,” he nodded. “That I can do. You still don’t see Bae.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she told him softly; her heartbroken tone told him it was all she dreamed of.

“Very well,” he nodded, for some reason a little buoyed by the thought of not constantly holding his breath, waiting for the next ugly fight with her. His desire to hurt her had died in the diner: now the thought that he could just left him aching and weary. “Could you show me to the next book in the series then, Belle?”

“Certainly, Mr Gold,” she smiled, tentatively, and lead him to the children’s section.

They managed to continue their civil conversation for another three minutes before _Black Powder War_ was all checked out, and he’d turned to leave. She went back to her filing, there was nothing left to say, and yet…

“Belle?” he said, his hand on the doorframe. She looked up, eyebrows raised.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about your father,” he said, softly, the first truly kind thing he’d said to her since she’d returned two whole months ago. She just stared at him, her jaw clenched, her eyes hard and bright. She looked as if the world had just ended, as if this was the first she’d heard of her father’s death: stricken, heartbroken.

Belle nodded, and managed a quiet “Thank you.”

He nodded, unsure of what to say or how to react, and turned and left her alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: an old friend returns to town


	8. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there's a trigger warning on this chapter for (almost) domestic abuse. So skip the first flashback if you want to avoid that.

Belle had always regarded Granny’s Diner as her home turf.

She and Ruby had been best friends since childhood, after all, and Granny had owned the diner since well before she’d ended up with custody of her granddaughter. Ruby had moved to Storybrooke the same year that Belle’s mother died, and Moe decided they needed a fresh start outside of Australia.

They’d gravitated together: Ruby reeling from the sudden abandonment of her mother, and Belle lost without her own. They’d been two motherless girls in a strange new school. Granny had been as much of a parent to Belle as Moe had, in a lot of ways, and Ruby like a sister.

Gold had caught her off-guard there. She’d been aware – hoping, even – that he’d been avoiding the diner because of her. She’d felt safe there, from his cruel words and his sharp eyes. Safe too from the feeling that he saw right through her and knew every dark thought she’d ever had, every weakness and flaw she tried to conceal: her selfishness, her instability, her indecisiveness.

They’d called a truce, and it was more than welcome: a war with Gold was the last thing she wanted. She even thought he might have felt some remorse for rejecting her first attempt at peace between them. They’d managed a civil conversation over _Black Powder War_ , the next book in the series he was reading with Bae. He’d even smiled at her, and that had been the worst thing. It hadn’t been a real, true smile, of course not: Belle never expected to see one of those again, rare as they were even with those he loved. But it had been a smile, his eyes warmer than before, his lips curved in amusement. Not a sneer, not a snarl or a grimace or a sarcastic smirk. A smile.

He’d made her laugh. Just once, with a comment she wasn’t sure he’d intended as a joke, but still, it had been almost as unsettling as his outright hatred. It was all too easy to fall back into an old pattern with him, to forget the dying days of their relationship, the last five years of silence, the last month of bitterness and biting attacks, and remember the easy sweetness they’d enjoyed for so long before that.

She’d been so happy, back then: a soft kind of happiness that lit every memory of that time with a warm golden glow. The happiness she’d found later, in travel and exploration and adventure, had been a different kind, harder, brighter, sharper, a wild exuberance entirely different from that gentle contentment.

At the time she’d turned her back on that feeling, called it claustrophobic and smothering, and exalted the freedom of the road. Now, she wondered if she hadn’t been staggering over the world for months, even years, blindly searching for something comparable to what she’d so readily given up.

Then he’d gone and mentioned her father.

For a moment, just a moment, her whole body had felt broken, and she’d been winded with the reminder that she hadn’t visited Moe’s grave since the funeral. She’d barely thought of him. She’d been thinking about what to do with the shop, and the library, and making new friends, and Granny’s health concerns, and the box of Bae’s things under her bed, and her feud with Gold. She’d not been thinking about the loss itself, the apology she’d never get to hear or to make, the stories she’d never tell him… not until Gold had brought it up.

Maybe he was trying to remind her, subtly, of why she lingered in town at all. It was a stretch, even for his Machiavellian mind, but it was a possibility. He clearly wanted the place back in his clutches, after all. And what right had he to mention Moe to her at all? It had been Gold’s vengeance, his accidental revealing of their relationship following its end, which had cut her contact with Moe in the first place.

She was in a daze, staring at her cup of coffee and trying hard to remember why she couldn’t just sell him the damn shop, if he was so keen, and run away as usual. She was startled out of her grim thoughts by the sight of someone, a stranger, sliding into the booth opposite her with a cup of coffee in their hands as if they had every right.

Belle looked up sharply, ready to ask whomever it was to move on and find her own table. She was met with a smile as familiar as her own.

“Damn, girl,” Mulan Fa grinned, “I know you said you came from a small town, but this is _microscopic_.”

“Mulan!” she cried, her misery washed away by sudden joy as her friend laughed in delight. They both stood up, and embraced over the table. “Oh, God, how long has it been?”

Mulan hugged her tight, and Belle felt herself warming through, her friend’s exuberance infectious. “Months,” Mulan said, “At least six! Haven’t seen you since… Berlin?”

“Must have been,” Belle nodded, pulling back at last and sitting down, beaming as Mulan did the same. “You were coming back to the States with Aurora, weren’t you? Where is she?”

Mulan’s face lost some of its light, her characteristic severity closing in. “She, ah,” Mulan tried to muster a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes, “She went home. I mean, I’m happy for her – her ex, you know, the one she was always on about, Philip?”

“Philip?” Belle frowned, remembering the name and trying to remember why it came with a tug of sympathy. “Wasn’t he in a coma? Oh, God, did he…”

“He woke up,” Mulan said, her smile firmer now, the smile of someone determined to be happy no matter what. “So she had to go home, you know? And now…”

“Oh, Mulan,” Belle murmured, taking one of Mulan’s slender hands in her own and squeezing. “I’m sorry. I mean, that’s really great for her, and for him, I’m happy for them… but I’m sorry.”

“You see the issue I’m having, then,” Mulan said, wryly. “I mean, you can’t be unhappy when a good guy – your friend’s childhood sweetheart – miraculously wakes up from a five year coma.”

“No, you can’t,” Belle agreed, “But I guess that means she went back to him?”

“Of course she did,” Mulan shrugged. “I mean, she and I… I love Aurora, but she's never going to notice, is she? At some point a woman’s got to look at the facts and know it’s time to move on. I’m happy for her. If she’s happy, I’m happy.”

As if summoned by that plaintive call, Ruby chose that moment to appear from behind the counter and throw herself down in the seat next to Belle. Or, rather, use her momentum to shove Belle over and make a seat for herself and her sandwich. Belle rolled her eyes fondly as Ruby settled in: some things never changed.

“So, I have a fifteen minute break,” Ruby announced, “and I come over to share lunch with my bestest ever friend, and I see her talking to someone I don’t know.”

“I have friends who aren’t you, you know,” Belle told her, raising an eyebrow. “Exhibit A, Mulan,” she gestured over the table.

“Ruby,” Ruby flashed a dazzling smile and extended her hand to Mulan, who gave Ruby a startled little smile and shook it. “My granny owns this place, so anything you order’s half price if you’re a friend of Belle’s.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mulan said, shooting a quizzical look to Belle, who shrugged in response. Ruby only had one personality mode these days: full on, with no holds barred. Mulan was a quieter sort, contemplative and grave. It always amused Belle to see anyone confronted with the full force of Ruby’s personality for the first time.

“You guys gonna tell me how you know each other, then?” Ruby asked, expectantly. Belle sighed, and rolled her eyes.

“You could try and let Mulan catch her breath, first,” she said. “I mean she just got here.”

“And it took me a bit of finding,” Mulan said, a little accusingly. “I only knew you’d come home because Merida said you’d mentioned getting a job in a library somewhere in Maine. And I figured there’s no way Belle French goes back to Maine and has a good time. I’m here to lend support.”

“Wow,” Ruby murmured, impressed, “Good work Nancy Drew.”

“I thought so,” Mulan preened. “Belle’s not great at keeping in touch, you have to push her a bit.”

“Thank you!” Ruby cried, thankful to have a sister in her suffering. Belle glared at her, but she just raised her eyebrows, “Come on, Belles, I got like, what? One text or email per new location, a phone call every month or so, just so someone would know to call Interpol if you got stabbed? Like, that’s not friendship, that’s GPS.”

Mulan snorted a laugh, and Belle looked at her in surprise: Mulan didn’t laugh easily with strangers. “Anyway, Merida says hi,” Mulan continued. “She’d have called but she’s a bit busy at the moment, something about her brothers getting into some kind of trouble back home. You know her mom – anything happens at all and Merida’s on the next flight to Edinburgh.”

“I’m surprised she’s still speaking to me,” Belle murmured, “I haven’t had any new articles for her in forever.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Mulan asked. “I know you’re home for a bit but you’ve not written anything about our last swing through Europe. I’m sure you could get two or three good pieces out of that, and Merida’s always paying.”

“I haven’t felt like it, alright?” Belle folded her arms a little defensively, and Mulan tactfully backed off.

Ruby, sensing the change in the air, seemed determined to swoop in and rescue her. “So,” she said, “Still not heard how you know each other.”

Mulan smiled at that, and considered the question, “We were the only two girls travelling alone on a flight from Rome to Dubai,” she said, at last. “Must have been… what, five years ago now?”

“More like four and a half,” Belle corrected. “It was spring 2011 I think.”

“Whenever it was, we had the cheap single tickets in coach and they’d put us next to each other. I was going through to China to visit some of my dad’s family, and Belle was roundabout headed for Australia.”

“We just kind of agreed to show each other around,” Belle said. “I changed my flight, and Mulan let me stay on her grandma’s sofa while I explored Beijing, then she did the same at my aunt’s in Melbourne. It just kind of made sense to stick together after that.”

“That sounds amazing,” Ruby sighed, a wistful look Belle recognised on her face. She’d been invited to come away when Belle and Will had made tracks for Newcastle, but she hadn’t saved up nearly enough, and Granny needed the help. Belle knew she regretted that decision, but to Ruby’s immense credit, she never seemed bitter about it.

“You should come with us, sometime,” she said now. “You'd love it."

“Yeah,” Mulan agreed, and again Belle was surprised at her ready response: she was normally the most reserved person Belle knew. “You’re more than welcome.”

“I’ll… think about it,” Ruby smiled, a far slower and more genuine, deeper smile than her usual flashing grins, and Belle knew she was deeply touched to be asked. But for all she’d extended the invitation, Belle didn’t feel the rush of relief that should have come with a hint of freedom from Storybrooke, a glimpse of life thereafter. Instead, she felt a pang of loss, deep in her gut. She found herself wondering if Mulan and Ruby could bond closely enough while Mulan was in town that Mulan would accept a substitute if Belle didn’t leave with her.

That feeling was Gold’s fault, she thought, it had to be. Just one mention of her father and suddenly she couldn’t imagine leaving home. Gold had gotten into her head, made her doubt herself, and used her dead father to do it. _Bastard_.

“Shit,” Ruby said then, seeing the stern look Granny was shooting her from across the room. “I gotta go, work calls. See you later?”

“Sure,” Belle smiled. “We could all go for drinks tonight, if you want?”

“Sounds great,” Ruby grinned and rose to her feet. She waved to them both, trotting back behind the counter so Granny could return to the kitchen.

“She seems… nice,” Mulan said, a little tentatively.

“Ruby’s the best,” Belle said. “I mean she and Granny are letting me stay here as long as I want and refuse to let me pay any rent at all, or pay for food. She’s been my best friend since elementary school. I missed her, you know? One of the few things about this place I really missed.”

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Mulan said, and reached to hold Belle’s hand in hers over the table. “Merida mentioned that, too. Said it was sudden?”

“Heart attack,” Belle told her, a lump forming in her throat yet again, and she swallowed it down hard. It was apparently her week for thinking about her father. “I… he was fine, and then suddenly Ruby’s on the phone telling me the funeral’s in a week, and I’m on a plane home. I never imagined coming home and him not being here, despite... you know, everything. But here we are.”

“God, that’s horrible,” Mulan murmured, squeezing her hand. “No wonder you’ve been so quiet lately. You doing okay here?”

“I can show you what I’ve been doing, if you want?” Belle offered, suddenly in desperate need of movement and fresh air. Mulan smiled.

“Sure, sounds great.”

They waved to Ruby as they headed out the door. It was a five-minute walk to the library, and from the other side of the road, Belle could almost forget the other establishment that stood between them and their destination.

Mulan, however, her mind like a steel-trap, forgot nothing. And Gold did have a very, very big sign out front.

“Mr Gold?” she read, as they passed, and Belle winced. “Is that as in…?” Belle nodded, a little miserably. “Is he still here?”

“Like my own personal ghost,” Belle smiled, humourlessly. “He seems to be everywhere these days.”

She’d forgotten that where Ruby, Granny, and the rest of Storybrooke knew nothing of that saga, Mulan knew everything. She’d been the first friend Belle had made after leaving Will in Newcastle and carrying on alone. It had only been a couple of months, Belle having spent the holidays with Will’s family and friends before moving on, and the new solitude had opened raw, fresh wounds. The months she’d spent alone in London and then Rome had been the hardest of her life. She’d barely eaten, hardly slept, and while she’d partied and drank and seen the sights and lived it up, she’d done it all with the knowledge she was sinking fast.

She’d been headed home to Melbourne, to family. She’d been all but convinced then that she couldn’t survive alone out in the big wide world, and wishing she hadn’t burned all her bridges in Storybrooke. She’d been close, in fact, to calling home, and returning to Storybrooke with her tail between her legs.

In a very real sense, Mulan had been the reason she’d made it through those first hard months alone, and not come running back at the first sign of trouble. Mulan had taught her how to be brave.

Mulan was also, therefore, one of the very few people who knew the truth of Belle and Gold.

“Listen,” she said now, realising they’d stopped outside the shop – thankfully over the road, but still – and how it might look. “No one here knows.”

“I know,” Mulan nodded, “I remember. You let them think you were dating that Will guy, the British one from your college. Wasn’t that part of the problem, cause Mr Gold over there decided to rat you out at the last minute?"

Belle closed her eyes for a moment, and swallowed hard. The image of her father's face that night, twisted with anger, his fist raised for the first and only time to punish her for her betrayal, flashed before her eyes. It would be her last memory of him, she thought: the ugliest part of him. She couldn’t forget Gold's hand in that, his violence and his cruelty, regardless of their truce.

\---

_“Papa?”_

_Moe’s face was like thunder as he entered the living room, and Belle rose to her feet instinctively, placing herself on level ground. Will watched from the settee, but she knew he could sense her uneasiness. There was something new in her father’s glassy eyes, something terrible. He was furious, and he’d clearly been drinking._

_“We need a word, my girl,” Moe growled. “I just learned something interesting.”_

_“What about?” she asked, cautiously, a terrible fear churning in her gut._

_“Your Mr Gold came to see me last night,” he said, and her heart sank. “He told me about what you’ve been doing to earn that money of yours.”_

_“Papa, I can explain-“_

_“No,” Moe shook his head. “No, you’ve been living as that monster’s slut, and I won’t stand for it!”_

_“Papa!” Belle gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. Her heart was pounding, and she felt Will rise to his feet and place a hand on her arm. “Please, you have to listen to me!”_

_“I’ve already heard enough, my girl,” Moe shook his heavy head. “Did you know about this, boy?” he demanded as he turned to Will, as if noticing him for the first time. “My daughter’s been whoring herself to Gold, did you know?”_

_“I know she left him,” Will said, stubbornly. Belle squeezed his hand for support, thankful beyond belief that he was here._

_“Oh, did she now?” Moe’s eyes gleamed, “You’re determined to leave, aren’t you Belle? So dead set on abandoning your own father you’d fuck that monster just to earn some extra cash. Even after everything he’s done to your own family!”_

_“He’s not like that!” Belle cried, defence springing to her lips even as her mind spun. Surely he hadn’t done this to her, shopped her out to her father even after she’d begged him not to. Surely he couldn’t be this cruel, this vindictive, not her Cam. No. “Please, I can explain!”_

_“I wondered where you’d got your new clothes,” Moe snarled, “all those fancy new things in your room. You were his whore, and I won’t have it under my roof!”_

_“I was no such thing!” Belle shouted back, her temper flaring. “I loved him, papa!”_

_“Then you’re a fool as well as a traitor!” Moe yelled back._

_“I didn’t betray anyone!” Belle retorted._

_“You took his money and you spread your legs for that beast!” Moe accused. "And now you've gone and pissed off the most powerful man in town to boot!"_

_“You’re the one who was paying me so little that I could barely afford to save!” she screamed back, anger she’d hoarded for far, far too long coming roaring back to the surface. “And you did it on purpose, to trap me here just like you trapped mother! I had to lie and sneak around because you couldn't stand that I want a life outside of here, just like she did! It killed her, papa, and now you’re doing the same to me, and-“_

_Moe raised his right hand, as if to strike her. Will stepped forward, between the two of them, and looked Moe dead in the eyes._

_“Lay one hand on her, and I’m calling the Sheriff,” he said._

_Moe gaped at Will, and then at Belle, and then at his own raised hand. Belle’s heart raced a mile a minute, disbelief and horror, fury and terror, all warring within her. He was going to hit her. Her own father was about to hit her, just for wanting to leave. She didn’t recognise the man in front of her, the brute that looked so much like her papa. The papa she knew would never have laid a hand on her. He shouted, he locked her bedroom door, he got drunk and he called her names, but he’d never, ever done that._

_“Go,” he bit out, his voice soft and terrible, even as his eyes were wide with horror at what he’d almost done. “Get out of my sight, and don’t you dare come back.”_

_“Papa-“ she gasped, but he didn’t relent._

_“Your friend here can get your things tomorrow,” Moe said. “I never want to see you again.”_

_“I can’t believe you,” Belle shook her head, her whole body trembling as she clung to Will for support. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me. Papa, please!”_

_“You’ve gone too far this time, my girl,” Moe said, his own voice shaking. “He's got it out for you but good, and I can't stand to look at you. I can’t have you under my roof anymore. You want to leave so badly, then go.”_

_“Come on, Belle,” Will urged. “You don’t need this, let’s go.”_

_“I hate you for this,” Belle swore, as Will lead her out of the front door, one arm protectively around her shoulders. “You hear me, papa? If you do this, I will never stop hating you!”_

_The door slammed in her face. Belle blinked, disbelieving, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks as her whole body shook. She was homeless. Her father had almost hit her. And it was all Cam’s fault._

_“C’mon,” Will squeezed her close, and she let herself be hugged, taking great comfort from his embrace. “It’s okay, he’ll come around,” Will said. “Till then, you can stay with me.”_

_Belle nodded, no other option but to accept. Cam hated her so much he’d sold her out to her father for revenge, and Moe now hated her too. She would never forgive either of them, she swore then. Not after this._

\---

She’d gone the very next day to Gold’s house, needing to know what he’d done and why he’d done it. He was home, she knew he had to be, and yet he hadn’t answered the door, hadn’t come to explain himself. She’d taken that silence as a tacit acceptance of his guilt. She’d never hated anyone so much than she hated him that day.

Since then, though, she’d had to wonder what had really happened between him and her father, and how much of it really was his fault. What could he possibly have said to warrant Moe’s reaction? But it was harder now, she supposed, when she could talk to Gold but would never get the chance to have the same talk with Moe. She was never going to get the full story, and so her last memory of her father would always be her worst. 

“Has he moved on, at least?” Mulan asked, dragging her back to the present. “I mean, five years, and he was ready to get married back then…”

“I… no,” Belle shook her head, gulping hard, forcing herself to focus. “I’ve not heard even a rumour of anyone else.”

“I guess you can’t ask, since then the next question is ‘why do you want to know?’”

“I suppose,” Belle shrugged. “Anyway, enough about my morbid past, wanna see my not-so-morbid present?”

“You sure you don’t want to just go in there and introduce me?” Mulan asked, with a sly smile. “Come on, years of stories about the man who completely broke my best friend and I don’t even get a face to put with the name?”

“No way in hell,” Belle said, firmly. “You want to go poke that beast you do it when I’m not nearby. We’ve only just managed to call a truce after weeks of all-out warfare, I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Fair,” Mulan shrugged. “Okay, library then?”

“Library,” Belle agreed, and lead her friend up the road to the clock tower building. “I should be opening back up for the afternoon anyway,” she said, “Lunch hour’s more than over, and Mayor Mills is a stickler for punctuality.”

She let them in, and busied herself at the counter while Mulan looked around.

“This place is great, Belle,” Mulan said, eyes wide at the improvements Belle had made to the place. It was a great space, once a little life was breathed into it, and Belle had done all she could to make it her own. “The kids corner is the best bit,” Mulan told her, having done a circuit and come back to the desk. Belle was stacking the returns pile, “That wouldn’t have anything to do with the kid, would it?”

“What kid?” Belle asked, feigning ignorance. Mulan rolled her eyes.

“Belle, I slept next to you in more hostel rooms than I can count,” Mulan said, firmly, her tone brooking no nonsense. “He’d be what, eight now?”

“Seven,” Belle said, sighing. “He’s seven. Eight in three weeks.”

“But there’s no kid,” Mulan said, and Belle knew she was caught out.

“Not now there isn’t,” she said. “Gold’s convinced I shouldn’t see him, because I’m leaving soon and he doesn’t want any… attachments.”

“And are you alright with that?” Mulan asked. Belle shrugged.

“I’m not his mother,” she said. “I have to be alright with it. Even if he is using Bae to get back at me, I just hope Bae doesn’t notice.”

“Well, you’ve made a nice little home here anyway,” Mulan said, gesturing to the library.

Belle nodded, “I suppose so, yeah. Turns out there are worse things than tying yourself down for a while.”

Mulan smiled at that, gently, an encouraging smile, and Belle thought of how out-of-place and yet completely fitting the other woman felt to her, here in Storybrooke. Mulan had always represented her new life, her life out in the world, restless and adventurous, always ready to chase a new horizon. Once, that had been welcome: necessary, even. They’d been twenty-five, free as the wind, dancing until all hours of the night, reading old books on trains and watching sunsets from every angle. It had been a wonderful time, a miraculous time. And until Mulan’s arrival, Belle had thought to pick it right back up, the moment Game of Thorns was sold.

Now, she wondered if Mulan felt the same as she did, as weary of it as she did. She wondered if she was changing, growing up, becoming ready for a different sort of adventure. Maybe that was why all of a sudden that life on the road seemed distant, a memory: an era that had now ended, with another dawning.

Maybe that was just what happened when a parent died. Maybe she would feel differently, in a month or so, when the dust truly settled.

“Hey,” Mulan snapped her fingers, “you still in there?”

“Yeah, yes, sorry,” Belle mustered a smile. “I was just thinking, I…”

“Belle?”

Mulan frowned, and turned to where Belle’s eyes had fixed on the door. Gold was standing there, a recognisable book in his arm, looking a little nervous.

“Yeah, sorry, I need to stop doing that,” Belle laughed at herself, self-consciously, and tried not to stare at Gold, who got himself patiently in line behind Mulan. Their truce had held for only two days so far, and in that time they’d seen each other only once or twice since, on neutral turf, and managed polite smiles. He didn’t come to the library, and she hadn’t ever thought to brave the pawnshop. “I have to see to this customer, do you want to browse?”

“I’ll linger here,” Mulan said, knowingly, and Belle swallowed hard, hoping to God her protective friend wouldn’t say anything damaging. Or do anything, Belle thought wildly: Mulan was a qualified tae kwon do and kickboxing instructor, after all.

“Good afternoon,” Belle smiled politely, wondering if she could keep up the ruse and fool her friend, knowing she wouldn’t succeed. “You’re returning that book?”

“Yes,” Gold nodded, his eyes straying to Mulan once or twice, who leaned against the counter and eyed him with open interest. “You did note it’s rather overdue, after all.”

“I’m waiving the fine, like I said,” Belle said, her bright customer service smile still fixed in place. She took the Oresteia off him, and stamped it back in, adding it to her returns pile.

“Thank you, Belle,” he said, and Belle’s stomach did a flip at the look in his solemn dark eyes. He was trying, she could see that: this was a rapprochement, a peace offering. He was trying to build on their progress from a few days previous. And she had Mulan as a peanut gallery.

“You’re very welcome,” she smiled. “How are you, anyway?”

“I’m… I’m just fine,” he said, smiling just a little. “Business is a little slow today. How about you?” his eyes slid to Mulan again, and Belle wondered if a straightforward introduction wouldn’t be easier.

“I’m good, actually,” Belle said, her decision made. “As you’ve clearly noticed, an old friend of mine came to town. Mulan, this is Mr Gold, he runs the pawnshop down the street.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mulan’s placid face betrayed no hint of whatever she felt meeting the man she’d heard a hundred stories about, and Belle saw Gold fighting to be polite.

“Pleasure,” he agreed, with a stiff nod, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, don’t let me intrude.”

“Oh, I was just leaving.” Mulan flashed Belle a quick smile, “I know Belle has a lot of work to do, and I need to settle in. I’ll see you at Granny’s,” she said to Belle, who nodded, unsure if she felt grateful for her friend’s swift exit or betrayed.

Mulan left, and Belle and Gold were left on opposite sides of the desk, worlds apart.

“I… she seems nice,” Gold attempted, lamely. Belle gave a soft laugh at their awkwardness.

“She saved me, once,” she said, at last. Something small and bright, spurred perhaps by the uncharacteristic, tentative softness in his dark eyes, flickered in her chest and drew out a little more of the truth than she judged he really deserved. “I was drowning and she saved me.”

“Ah,” Gold nodded, awkwardly, fumbling with his cane. The motion was so familiar that Belle was suddenly standing in his kitchen, years ago, and he was looking at her with hope in his eyes.

\---

_“Where’s Bae?” Gold rarely allowed any emotion to show, Belle had learned that quickly, but with his child his feelings were always right at the surface. Her mind thought back to a few nights ago, when his mouth had caught hers by accident, and suddenly he was kissing her in the kitchen, shivers racing up and down her spine. They’d eaten together and talked, but he hadn’t kissed her goodnight when she left, and he hadn’t mentioned it since. When she’d brought Bae by the shop, Gold had been all business, all but ignoring her in favour of his son. She was hoping it was fear of rejection and awkwardness that led him, not a lack of desire. After all, he had kissed her several more times that night, before he’d spooked and pulled back._

_“I put him to bed about ten minutes ago,” she explained, her voice low. “I only came down to fix a snack before I head home.”_

_“Ah,” Gold nodded, but his eyes dropped, not reassured but… nervous? He fumbled with his cane, turning the handle around and around in his hands. “Good.”_

_“Mr Gold?” she frowned, a little worried now: he never fumbled, not her put-together, guarded employer. It would be a little too much like showing weakness._

_That she enjoyed it, relished this little peek into someone other than the calm, hard persona he presented to the world, was neither here nor there. That another man existed beneath his skin, someone kind and warm and gentle, was never in doubt. No one so heartless as he pretended to be could be so soft and sweet the moment his child smiled at him. His mask had slipped that night, when he came home to find Bae silently sleeping on her shoulder, and insisted on making her dinner. It had been that kind, sweet man who’d kissed her until her head spun, and then withdrawn as quickly as he’d appeared._

_God help her, she wanted to be the person he was weak in front of._

_“Are you alright?” she asked, after a moment, and he finally met her eyes. They were fathomless, unreadable, and yet…_

_“You don’t have to go right away, you know,” he said, his voice soft and pleading. “Your contract doesn’t require you vanish the moment my son is asleep for the night.”_

_“I need to be getting going,” she apologised. She didn’t explain why. It was Moe’s poker night, and someone needed to be in the house when he got home to make sure he made it to bed. In that moment, she hated her drunken old father for denying her this opportunity to get to know her employer better. She was almost certain that another dinner was an opportunity for more of those addictive kisses._

_“Ah,” he nodded, clearly hearing a rejection where none existed. “I see.”_

_“But I could stay tomorrow night?” she offered, quickly. “I really do have to leave now, but I’d like to stay if I could.”_

_“Tomorrow night?” he checked, and his voice was so full of hope that her heart nearly stopped in her chest. She swore she could drown in those huge dark eyes of his, so warm and expressive._

_“It’s a date,” she smiled, and stepped close to him, as close as she dared. “And this time, Mr Gold, I really mean that.”_

_“A date?” he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. She nodded, and bit her lip to keep from leaning forward and kissing it._

_“A date,” she confirmed, and then – bravery overcoming her – she leaned up and kissed his soft mouth, gently, to bring the point home. When she withdrew his eyes had fluttered closed, his face slack with pleasure. “If that’s okay by you?”_

_“Of course,” he fumbled, an inexplicable blush rising in his cheeks as his eyes blinked back open to look at her. “It’s a date.”_

\---

The memory was fleeting, brief but vivid, and Belle struggled to keep her smile up. The silence stretched as she waited for him to say something, anything, but he just fiddled with his cane, apparently trapped by his own indecision. The contrast, her memories to reality, was sour in her mouth. What did it say about her that even now, remembering so clearly the horrors he was capable of, she could remember those tender moments with such fondness? How could he possibly be both men at once?

“Anyway,” she continued, false and bright. “She’s just in town to check up on me, you know, with everything that’s happened.”

“Of course,” Gold agreed, thankful it seemed for the change in tone. “Well, I’m glad you’ve found yourself such devoted friends.”

“The world’s not all full of cutthroats and thieves,” Belle smiled back. “Sometimes people surprise you. Plus, the love of her life’s boyfriend just miraculously woke up from a five-year coma, so I think she’s in need of some looking after too.”

“Did someone find a frog to kiss him?” Gold asked, frowning, and Belle couldn’t help the little laugh that bubbled up and escaped her.

“No,” she shook her head. “Someone changed his meds, I think. One of those medical miracles.”

“Man gets to sleep away the last five years and wake up with his love beside him,” Gold murmured, wistfully. “I’m having a hard time finding pity.”

Belle chose not to examine that too hard: his eyes were altogether too intense for comfort. “Think of the potential brain damage,” she replied. “How would you swindle and prey upon the innocent with half your frontal lobe out of order?”

“You do make a good point,” he agreed. “Swindling and, ah, preying would be a little difficult whilst drooling into a cup.”

“And think of the muscle atrophy,” Belle shuddered dramatically. “That cane wouldn’t cover you.”

“Too true,” he actually chuckled, and Belle felt an odd little warmth at the sound. “And with that bracing thought, I should be on my way. Good day, Belle,” he said, turning toward the door, walking away.

“I… I suppose I never asked,” Belle said, stopping him at the door, Mulan’s words from outside returning to her. “Did you… meet anyone, after I left?”

Gold turned, a quixotic smile on his face, as if he couldn’t determine what she was really asking him. “No,” he said, after a moment. “No. I was raising a small child. Hardly time for dating.”

“Of course,” Belle nodded. “I’m sorry I asked. Good day, Mr Gold.”

“Good day, Belle,” he returned, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Gold and Regina have a talk, and Gold comes to a decision


	9. Dragons Old and New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And so after the relative idyll of last chapter, we have the bitter reality. We're really cooking now :D And yes I know this is getting dark but hey, it can only get better!
> 
> Again, trigger warning for mentions of parental abuse, although it's not as explicit this time.

Life in Storybrooke rarely changed.

Oh, people came and went, of course; the seasons ticked by, inflation drove up prices and Mayor Mills’ need to stay in office prompted slow reform. People died. Babies were born. But still, things rarely truly changed. It was what had drawn him to the place all those years ago, in fact: after the constant tumult and fear and instability of his youth, Gold had sought a place where one could lay down roots and trust that the ground would remain firm beneath one’s feet. He’d tethered his business, his whole life, to the land itself, buying up every cheap, underdeveloped plot he could get his hands on. He knew almost everyone in town, and could predict their habits, their choices, their mistakes and their virtues.

Life in Storybrooke might be somewhat boring, but it was stable, and the people in it fit that description along with the city lines themselves. It comforted him, the lack of ambiguity, of colour, of confusion. When things stayed in their place they could be controlled, and once one controlled something, one no longer need fear it.

Belle French was an exception. Belle French was _always_ an exception.

He wanted to slam his head to the wall, often, and repeatedly. Ever since he’d found her curled up in her dead father’s apartment, cold and skinny and hissing like an alley cat, she’d been in his thoughts. Halfway across town or right in front of him, it didn’t seem to matter: if he wasn’t occupied at that very second, he was wondering about Belle French. He was like a broken record, and if it hadn’t been for Bae and his need for a competent parent, Gold would have seriously considered self-medication to drown out the voice that yammered, incessantly, about _Belle fucking French_.

It had been easier when he could take his frustration out on the woman herself. Now, with her deep, sad blue eyes suing for peace and his promise of a truce, that outlet was no longer available. He saw her everywhere these days, it seemed: she waved in the morning when he passed Granny’s; she walked briskly past the shop windows on her way to work; she smiled as she met him in the supermarket while running errands. They rarely spoke, they had little to speak about with their past and Bae both out of the question, but still, there she was. There she always was. With the threat of their verbal wars dispelled, Belle seemed to have taken up residence in every corner of town simultaneously.

He was being ridiculous; he didn’t even see her every day. But after five years of conspicuous, quiet absence, Belle’s presence in even a moment of his day felt like a firework show after years in the dark. Every time she appeared unexpectedly, smiling when she saw him with determined brightness, the world shifted on its axis and his structured mind was thrown into disarray.

At least Bae was safe from her, kept from the Library by his edict to the Nolans, busy with plans for the school play and a greater level of homework in third grade than he’d had in second.

Gold looked across at him from over the dinner table, his curly head bent over a simplistic diagram of a butterfly’s life cycle. He held the pencil carefully in his chubby fingers, his whole being bent on the exercise. He was worth the effort to protect, at any cost.

Earlier, Gold had seen Belle’s young Chinese friend wandering through the park while he and Bae fed the ducks. It had focused his thoughts on that one aspect of his personal hell. Granny’s was becoming a veritable sorority house in the three weeks since she arrived, and he hadn’t missed the new interest the diner now attracted from hordes of drooling young men. No doubt it would be crawling come the weekend, when Halloween would remove the final traces of Ruby Lucas’ modesty.

He wondered if any of those admirers had drawn Belle’s eye yet. He wondered why he cared.

He’d been thinking about it all day, despite numerous attempts – including a prolonged visit to the playground with Bae, three hours of cartoons, and many desperate attempts at reading over the documents from the Nolans’ chosen contractor – not to.

The arrival of a friend of hers from her travels meant one of two things, he reasoned. She was either planning to leave again soon, and the girl was here to help her to pack, or she was settling in for the long haul. Long enough to have visitors, at least. He didn’t know which option was more unsettling.

If she stayed, he’d be like this forever: confused, angry, too repressed to truly express either, and stuck thinking about a woman he ought to detest. If she left… if she left, he’d proven before he could survive. When she left, for it was a certainty that she would, sooner or later, he would be just fine. Clear of her forever – for she’d have no reason to ever return – and safe to take Bae to Granny’s or the park without fear of the soft, deep, undeniable longing that came to her bright blue eyes whenever she set eyes on the boy.

Gold was not a vindictive man, but he wasn’t stupid, nor was he powerless to act. He’d run people out of town before – bad tenants, dishonest debtors, his ex wife, Belle herself and her plucky little boyfriend – he could do it again.

The following morning, he saw Bae off to school and, instead of going straight to his store, he walked the few blocks to City Hall. September had drifted into October, and the chill came early this far north. The autumn leaves covered the streets, the trees a riot of gold and red. It felt appropriate that these events should transpire while all around him things were dying.

“Ah, Mr Gold,” Regina’s smile was perfunctory as he let himself into her office. She was in desperate need of an assistant, someone to at least keep the mob from her door. He told her as much. She laughed.

“They’ve not come with their torches and pitchforks yet,” she noted. “I think I’m safe enough for now, although with Halloween this weekend I suppose I should consider hiring a guard. Especially after last year.”

That brought a smile to Gold’s thin lips, remembering the mess City Hall had been on November 1st. “You could simply ban the sale of eggs?” he suggested. “Although considering the smell last year, such a measure would need to have been taken weeks ago.”

Regina was less than amused by the memory.

“I assume you didn’t come to discuss office security?”

“Indeed not,” he agreed. She gestured for him to take a seat, but he remained standing, preferring her to remember the way things stood with them: him, over her. “I came to discuss your insultingly low offer on the French property,” he said, presently. Regina’s eyebrows rose, but her smirk told him this was expected, even amusing.

“I see,” she said, as if laughing at some private joke. “And what, exactly, is your interest in that business? Last I heard you were hardly made executor of Mr French’s estate.”

“My interest is the same as ever, dear,” he said. “It’s up for sale, I wish to purchase it.”

“And you’re afraid the librarian will settle for the lower offer?” Regina scoffed. Gold’s gaze was even and unwavering.

“I’m afraid you have some ulterior motive for offering such a low amount,” he replied. “You may not have been top of your class but you do understand how numbers work, I assume.”

“City Hall’s a little tight this month,” she told him, every word dripping false. “Call it budget cuts. I’m appealing to Miss French’s sense of civic duty.”

“It falls under coercion to hire someone for the sole intention of having her in your debt, Madame Mayor,” he said. “It’s underhand to take advantage.”

“You'd know all about that," Regina murmured, and Gold started. Regina spoke again before he had time to question it, but a heavy lump of suspicion and dread settled in his stomach. "Miss French can decide for herself,” Regina continued. “And to tell the truth, she doesn’t have to like me, since she so clearly _dislikes_ you. For whatever reason…” she ran her eyes over him, openly sizing him up, that infuriating smirk still clear and present. “She seems not to trust you. So I’d be a little less worried about Miss French’s financial situation, and more about how terrible your reputation must be to have scared off a woman you apparently barely know.”

“What have you said to her?” he asked. “I don’t think local business owners would feel safe knowing the Mayor is going around spreading rumours.”

“I didn’t have to say anything, Gold,” Regina informed him. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I’d give up on her ever selling you anything. Cut your losses, Gold. I’ve won this one.”

“Let me guess,” Gold pursed his lips, running over Regina’s usual tricks in his mind, finding one that fit. “You’re no bibliophile, and the thought of giving anything for free turns your avaricious stomach, so you didn’t suddenly reopen the library exactly when prime real estate opened up out of civic generosity. It is remarkably popular, though, isn’t it? Imagine if you could monetise that. You’d make a small fortune, I’d imagine, now the town’s appetite for books is whet.”

“Are you done unravelling my devilish schemes, Gold?” Regina enquired. Her smile had lost some of its smugness, and Gold called that a victory.

“Belle’s a lovely little opportunity for you, isn’t she?” he asked, enjoying himself now, on a role. “Emotionally unstable, temporary, qualified, and the owner of a shop on Main Street that needs to be sold. You must have salivated for a good hour before you worked out how to abuse that.”

“This _Belle_ has made quite the impression, hasn’t she?” Regina’s eyes gleamed, and Gold cursed himself for getting caught up in tormenting her and letting the name slip. A dreadful suspicion settled low in his stomach, as he watched her lips curl with amusement. He couldn’t ask what she had, how she knew, but she had to have _something_ , even if she had no firm evidence.

“Up your offer or get out of the running, Regina,” he snapped. “Desperate and emotional Miss French may be, but she isn’t stupid enough to fall for one of your schemes.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door, almost out of her office and her sights when her voice stopped him in his tracks.

“What does it matter, as long as she leaves town?” Regina called after him. “That’s what matters, isn’t it? That she’s gone?”

He didn’t turn, didn’t ask how she’d guessed that, didn’t say a word. He left feeling sicker and more out of sorts than he had in days, and that was saying something with Belle French in town.

She was right, however. All that mattered now was that Belle was gone. The sooner she left, the sooner all of this would stop mattering and things could go back to normal. But somehow the thought of Regina screwing her out of her home for such a measly sum – a pittance, barely enough to support her for five minutes no matter where she went – sat wrong with him. Perhaps it was the worry that, with a job and a room here, she wouldn’t leave if she hadn’t enough money. Perhaps it was the memory of how she’d left the first time, his unease a product of leftover guilt.

Or maybe it was that recurring nightmare of her in her father’s bedroom, cold and thin and alone, penniless and homeless. The image – the practicality with which she bore the situation; the ease that spoke of practice, of _experience_ with such squalor – haunted his dreams.

The girl had lost her father, he reminded himself, as he walked slowly to his shop and finally opened up for the day. She’d lost her father and it made sense she’d stay in town for a time to grieve, and perhaps wait a while to sell the property that had been her home. Academically he knew that, even if he couldn’t quite empathise with mourning the loss of one’s father.

When he’d gotten the news that his own wastrel father had finally thrown himself in the Clyde, he’d taken a glass of scotch out to his back yard, and poured half of it out on the ground before downing the rest. To this day, he couldn’t decide if that had been celebration or a memorial.

Moe French had been a brilliant florist and a terrible parent, but he’d been better than Malcolm Gold, at least. He'd held on too tightly, rather than abandoning his child in the middle of a strange city with strange women, and vanishing into the mist. And Belle had a far softer heart than Gold’s had ever been, even now.

He’d been sloppy; he scolded himself in hindsight as the day wore on. The events at Regina’s office seemed worse by the hour. He’d shown his hand, and Regina was hardly a criminal mastermind but she could smell weakness a mile off. Any hope of having her withdraw her offer was off the table now. He would need to find another way.

When it reached his usual lunch hour, Gold hadn’t had a single customer. This was not unusual: the shop was hardly popular, and mostly served as a repository for the things people had bargained away in return for rent extensions and other favours over the years. Still, Gold’s stomach rumbled, and he was about to haul his carcass to Granny’s for his usual takeout when the bell over the door rang.

He looked up, a snarl on his lips, but he shoved his usual snide comment aside. “Mr Nolan,” he greeted, with the politest smile he could muster. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

David held up two bags of Granny’s take out, and smiled, “I brought lunch.”

“I see that,” Gold agreed. “I fail to understand what that has to do with me.”

“One of the bags is for you,” David rolled his eyes, and put the bag on the counter in front of Gold, who eyed it like it was live ammunition. “It’s not going to bite. Cheeseburger with extra pickle, right? Bae mentioned it was your usual.”

“It is,” Gold agreed, noncommittally. “Did you need something, Mr Nolan?”

“My wife has a big mouth,” David told him, his usual straightforward manner for once catching Gold off-guard. “She ratted you out.”

“I’m well aware,” Gold murmured, “But that was weeks ago.”

David raised an eyebrow, “Mary Margaret ‘fessed up?” he wondered aloud. “Or did Belle snitch? Because Mary Margaret only confessed to me last night that she'd said anything.”

“Miss French is hardier than your little wife gives her credit for,” Gold told him, his hunger at last beating out his distrust as he reached into the bag and pulled out his food. “She confronted me about it at her earliest opportunity. She wanted to know if she’d offended me or some other nonsense.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it surely wasn’t the truth either. David Nolan was a good man, upstanding and honest, and he was definitely a useful babysitter. What he was not was anything in the region of a friend or confidante. The man seemed to have mistaken civility for mutual gain for camaraderie, and Gold found himself somewhat at a loss.

Before her return, he’d have known exactly what to do. What was it about that dratted woman that she could turn his whole world on its head with just a bat of her eyelids?

David was giving him an odd look. “You don’t ask us to keep Bae away from sugar or violent cartoons, but the _library_ you have a problem with? You can kinda forgive Mary Margaret for wondering.”

“Your wife ” Mr Gold told him. “Tell me, exactly what did I do to you personally to deserve such suspicion?”

David winced, “Mary Margaret is… jumpy, sometimes. And she grew up here, you know? She’s all wrapped up in this town’s weird rumour mill. I figured the burgers would work as an apology?”

Gold eyed the other man carefully, “What did you think, then, when I made my request? If not to jump instantly to the fragile librarian’s defence?”

“I thought… actually, I don’t know what I thought,” David shrugged. “I thought Mary Margaret’d probably overreact and meddle, which she did, and that other than that your son is your business. You’re a decent landlord and you love your kid, if you don’t want him in the library then that’s nothing to do with me.”

“I…” Gold actually found a genuine smile for David then, however small and slight. “I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you.”

“But for what it’s worth,” David half-shrugged, and Gold groaned internally: they’d almost had a pleasant moment. “Belle’s super good with kids, and Emma’s finally reading. So if Mary Margaret’s right and it is a personal issue with the librarian, I’d say try and get over it.”

“Thank you for the unsolicited advice,” Gold murmured. “Would you believe that my personal ‘issues’ are also my own business?”

“She used to live here, didn’t she?” David asked, and Gold was horrified to see a glimmer of perception in the other man’s eyes. “When Bae was little? Mary Margaret seems to think Belle used to babysit for you.”

“She did,” Gold confirmed, shortly. David pursed his lips, and nodded.

“You know, Bae’s been asking to go to the library again all week,” he said. “If you’re pissed at Belle that’s your business, but Bae shouldn’t be dragged into that.”

“Thank you for the concern, but it’s unnecessary,” Gold snapped, bristling at David’s sheer nerve. Keeping Bae away from Belle was a protective measure, nothing more. The idea that Bae should be asking to see her, and thus suffering by proxy through Gold’s denial… that he could be denying his son something he wanted for personal reasons… 

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, he didn’t use Bae as a pawn in his machinations, not ever. It made him sick to his stomach. He’d always sworn to himself he’d never do that. He’d promised himself he’d never do what his own father had done, when he’d used his own skinny little runt as a distraction or a manipulative tool. 

The sooner Belle was out of town, he thought, the sooner things could go back to normal.

“You’re right,” David nodded, backing away. “I’m sorry, it’s your business. Are you still sending Bae to us for Halloween?”

“Would your daughter permit it if I didn’t?” Gold asked, raising his eyebrows. David laughed.

“No,” he conceded, “probably not. Lily’s mom really came through this time, I don’t know how she made two dragon costumes in two weeks, but Emma’s over the moon.”

“I’ve heard of little else for weeks,” Gold managed a smile at that, remembering Bae’s effusions on the subject of dragon costumes. His was gold, apparently, because of his name, but it shimmered green or grey depending on the light. He’d never understood Halloween in the States, and they certainly hadn’t trick-or-treated in Laurieston. Not that he would have been invited out if they had. Still, Bae loved every part of it, and Gold could hardly begrudge a holiday that lead to an album full of photos of his son beaming and dressed in hilarious costumes, growing bigger every year.

“I bet,” David grinned. “We’ll be sure and stop by your place on our way around the neighbourhood.”

“You’ll be the only ones, I’m sure,” Gold’s smile turned a little cynical, although he hardly wanted trick-or-treaters to come and do to his house what they’d done to City Hall. No parent was stupid enough to allow their child within an inch of his home, whether to beg for undoubtedly poisoned candy or to enrage the monster within.

David’s smile weakened a little, but to his credit he rallied. “Anyway, I gotta get back to the shelter. Just wanted to stop by and apologise for my lovely wife sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. And, I guess, for my doing the same thing just then.”

“She’s… concerned,” Gold replied, unable to believe he was finding a defence for the woman when her erstwhile husband was for once on his side. “Her heart was in the right place, I’m sure, as was yours. And I can hardly blame you: I do hunt children for their pelts in my spare time.”

David gave him an odd look, and for a moment – brief, unwelcome, unsettling – Gold thought that were she here, Belle would have found that funny. “A quip, Mr Nolan,” he murmured. “In the spirit of the upcoming commercial holiday. Nothing more.”

“Right,” David nodded, with a dubious, nervous chuckle. “Enjoy your lunch, Gold.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Nolan,” Gold replied, and returned to his food as the door closed behind David. At least the burger was good. And the sentiment, if clumsily delivered. While it made sense, of course, to keep on the right side of one’s landlord, David’s gesture had carried no sycophantic overtone at all. For once, Gold decided not to question it: a free lunch was a free lunch, after all.

Still, it was yet another disruption from the natural order of things. He liked the Nolans – David more than his wife, to be fair, but both of them more than most – but it was another thing for their lives to be entangled at all with his own. Bae and Emma were close, and they looked after his son after school. That was the extent of it. He didn’t need their advice; but then, until now there had been nothing for them to advise upon.

Belle French’s chaotic influence pervaded everywhere, it seemed.

He collected Bae from school himself that day, and was amazed when Mary Margaret made a point of saying hello on the playground and asking about his day. She didn’t flinch once in his presence. It was unsettling in the extreme.

Something had to change. Belle needed to leave as soon as possible, before the situation could deteriorate further. He couldn’t blame her for his own actions – for all his flaws, Gold was not quite so pathetic as that – but the chaos of her return had turned him into someone he didn’t like or recognise. In trying to keep her out of his life, keep things as tranquil and steady as they had been before her return, he had managed to do the one thing he’d promised he never would: he had dragged Bae into his personal conflicts. That couldn’t be allowed to continue.

To his mind, that meant only two options: either he had to lift the ban and allow Belle access to Bae, thus opening the child up to another maternal abandonment once she grew bored; or he had to compel her to leave town as quickly as possible, and remove the source of all this trouble.

The choice, to his unexpected disappointment, was clear. There was a treacherous part of him that desperately wanted to give her a real second chance, to trust that she wouldn’t hurt Bae and allow her back in. Every time they saw one another now, she looked so hopeful and yet so sad. He didn’t want to use Bae to punish her, but hadn’t she forfeited her rights to him when she skipped town and never called? He had understood her cutting him out, for he’d done it to her first, but she’d never even sent Bae a postcard.

She hadn’t wanted him until she came back and saw him. The problem with that argument, compelling as it was, was that it brought him face-to-face again with David Nolan’s accusation: he was using Bae to hurt Belle. He’d never wanted to do that, not for her sake but for his son’s. Bae deserved better than that.

But Bae also deserved better than another maternal abandonment. Gold couldn’t take the risk that she’d leave again, and leave Bae with two absentee mothers who never called when they said they would. One was bad enough.

After a moment’s rummaging in the right hand drawer of his desk, he finally found the thick folder of recently unearthed documents he was looking for.

His search a few months ago for French’s will had come up empty, but he’d found something else while searching, something almost as important: the original contract of sale. He unearthed it now, and in remembering the circumstances behind the contract in his hands, he finally started to form a plan.

\---

_“Mr Gold?” Moe French was red in the face when he answered the door, flustered and clearly out of sorts despite it being not eight in the evening. “What’re you doing here?”_

_“What I’m always here for, Mr French,” Gold smiled, a thin smile that didn’t meet his eyes. Inside, he felt sick to his stomach, anger and fear and grief and guilt all struggling for dominance. “I’m here to make a deal.”_

_“I’ve paid my rent,” the man blustered. “I’ve paid my dues to you and your crooked enterprise, there’s nothing else you’ll get from me this month.”_

_“Now, now, Mr French,” Gold spread his hands. “Who said I was here to take any of your…” he looked around the shabby hallway, up the stairs to the shabbier flat above, and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Valuables?”_

_Just being here made his stomach churn, knowing she could be home – she wasn’t, he knew she wasn’t, she was off with that boyfriend of hers, flaunting themselves about town – and remembering all the better days before when she had been. Days Moe French knew nothing about, but could learn of tonight, if that card needed playing. What did Gold care for Belle and her precious discretion now? What did her reputation matter when she was leaving anyway?_

_“Then what the hell do you want?”_

_“I want your daughter out of my town, Mr French,” Gold told him, his voice deadly calm. “She and her boyfriend have caused enough trouble.”_

_“My Belle?” Moe creased his brow, and Gold resisted the urge to beat him senseless, an old protective urge still in his bones even when his heart and mind knew better. She hadn’t been Moe’s little girl since her mother died when she was eight, and Moe had crumbled into an alcoholic waste of space before her eyes. All he’d had time for after that was his plants and his cups: he only cared for her when it seemed she might grow away from him. He’d moved them both to a new continent and a new town, trapped her with him without a friend in the world and fought her every step of the way whenever she tried to change anything. And that was just what Gold knew about: there could be a hundred further crimes that Belle had kept hidden. Those father issues of hers explained a lot, in retrospect. “What’s she done to you?”_

_“That doesn’t matter,” Gold said. “What matters is that I can make you a comfortable man, Mr French. Indeed, your consent tonight would guarantee you your freedom from me for the rest of your days.”_

_“Oh?” Moe’s beady eyes narrowed, but he didn’t close the door, and he didn’t defend his daughter’s honour. Gold had always hated that faithless, selfish streak in the man, but it was apparently genetic, and now it would work in his favour. “How?”_

_Gold held out the document in his hands, “I’m glad you asked.”_

_The contract was simple, simple enough even for Moe French to understand, but binding in its entirety. The whole shop: apartment, garden and all, sold to Moe French for just a thousand dollars, and the promise that the money he saved in rent for the next year be passed on in a lump sum to Belle. Travel money. Her inheritance, come early. Blood money._

_She’d only come home to save for her precious adventures, Gold reasoned. If the financial incentive to stay were taken away, she’d be able to go and never come back. If her father were financially invested in her departure, then he wouldn’t hold her back. This could solve both their problems: she got her father, her final obstacle, out of the way; he got his town and his life back._

_“This is… Gold, what the hell does this mean?” Moe demanded, and Gold sighed and rolled his eyes._

_“What it says in black and white, Mr French,” he replied, his patience wearing thin. “I will sell you this whole property for a hundredth what it’s worth, in return for the money you save for the next year – indeed, I have calculated the money you’d owe to save you the trouble – go to your daughter’s travel fund.”_

_“But why?” Moe asked, bewildered. “What…?”_

_“My reasons are my own, Mr French,” Gold’s tone was implacable. “Do we have a deal?”_

_“I have to know why,” Moe shook his head, his brow creased. Gold looked the man over, taking in the stubborn, piggish eyes, and the crease to his brow. He was an alcoholic, who to all accounts had never understood his bookish daughter, but he still clung on. Gold assumed it was a mix of impotent control issues, and needing to hold onto what little he had left of his late wife. Whatever his reasons, from what little information Belle had told him, Moe might well withhold her wages or even hide her passport to keep her around, and Gold couldn’t have that._

_Moe had to be invested in her leaving town, as invested as he was. And so, the truth had to be known._

_“Truth be told, your daughter and I have shared more than an employment contract,” he said, slowly, gauging Moe’s reaction as he spoke. “In fact, she has shared my bed for quite some time now, and a good time was had by all. However, as our association has now ended and she has found a better offer, I have no desire to see her wandering around town with that boy of hers. She wants to go; I want her gone. And you can be the man to make that happen.”_

_The man had a face like thunder, and for a moment Gold regretted having spoken at all, wondering if Belle truly did have more to fear from Moe than he had assumed. But this would resolve all of that, wouldn’t it? Moe wouldn’t dare stand in Belle’s way, if ownership of his shop were on the line. And if Gold did catch wind of anything untoward, anything to break their contract and prevent her departure, then Moe would forfeit ownership._

_“My girl…” Moe growled, “With a monster like you?”_

_“Unlikely as it sounds, I assure you it is the case,” Gold said. “For almost as long as she has worked for me, Belle and I have been lovers too. You can understand why I’d like her out of town, now that she has chosen to leave.”_

_“No,” Moe shook his head, his face murderous. “No, she’s not going anywhere. Not on my dime, I won’t allow it. She’s gone too far, this time. Give that girl an inch and she’ll take a fucking mile.”_

_“I think you should reconsider that position,” Gold said, silkily._

_“I wondered how she was getting so much out of you, Gold,” Moe snarled. “You’re a bastard, you’ve corrupted my daughter. You’re the reason she’s so dead set on leaving, well, it’s not going to happen. She’s going to stay here, where I can keep an eye on her, and keep her away from monsters like you. She’ll stay here, with me, where she’s safe from herself and from the likes of you.”_

_“I do wish you’d have been reasonable,” Gold sighed. He pulled out his gun with a slow draw, and pointed it squarely at the larger man’s chest. “Now,” he said, “Do we have a deal?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Belle receives a new offer on the shop, and Bae makes a new friend


	10. Lie Down at the Crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warning for this chapter! Enjoy!

“Hey, you okay?”

Belle glanced up from her contemplation of the envelope before her, and met Ruby’s concerned eyes with an unconvincing smile. “Yeah,” she half-lied, “Yes, I was just thinking.”

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the paper, y’know,” Ruby advised, her eyebrows drawn in sympathy. “You’ve been staring at it since you got here. Is it something to do with your dad?”

“Kind of?” Belle frowned and shook her head, her hands clenched hard around her coffee mug. Ruby had pulled the late shift, so Belle had elected to hang out in the diner after work until closing to keep her friend company. This also prevented her from sitting alone in her bedroom, staring at the large brown document envelope the real estate agent had sent to the library for her that afternoon. “It’s something to do with the shop.”

“Oh shit,” Ruby muttered. “More bills? Mayor Mills can’t cut you a bit of slack? Your dad just died!” Belle winced, and Ruby made an apologetic grimace. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Belle tried to smile again, and succeeded a little better this time. “And no, it’s not the bills. It’s a new offer.”

“What?” Ruby’s brow creased with confusion. “From who? Mr Gold and City Hall already placed offers, didn’t they?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “They wish to remain anonymous. The agent said that the offer was good, though. It’s… it’s a lot of money they’re offering, whoever they are.”

“Oooh intriguing,” Ruby grinned. “Belles, this is great! Why do you look like you just watched a puppy get stabbed?”

Belle had been trying to work that one out herself for some time now. The offer was perfect: the buyer had offered well above asking price, and the money would be enough to support her indefinitely if she was careful, no matter where she went next. For the first time since she’d arrived in Storybrooke, Belle felt the door to the outside world was open and beckoning. She could cut all ties – Gold wouldn’t have her shop, Regina wouldn’t have any hold over her, and all her father’s affairs would be in order – and never look back.

And therein lay the problem, it seemed. Now faced with a clear and easy road out of town, Belle found herself seeking reasons to stay just a little bit longer.

Reason number one was watching her right then, bright eyes warm and worried, holding a coffee pot that was rapidly cooling. Ruby deserved better than to be abandoned by her oldest friend all over again, and she’d need time to get the money together – and to organise a replacement to help Granny out – if she was going to come along.

“Belle?” Ruby checked, and Belle shook her head again.

“Sorry,” she murmured, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Hmm,” Ruby pursed her lips, but didn’t question further. “Well, Granny’s gonna murder me if I don’t get back to work. When’s Mulan getting here?”

Belle couldn’t miss the subtle urgency behind Ruby’s question, and her eyes narrowed as she wondered how long Ruby had been waiting to slip that question in there. She’d been surprised by how well her bright, outgoing, bouncy best friend had gotten along with serious, reserved Mulan, but they seemed to work as a perfect balance.

They’d all gone to Billy’s Halloween party a week ago, the same way they had every year in high school and when she wasn’t in college, and Belle had thought she’d need to scrape Mulan’s jaw off the pavement when she’d seen Ruby’s outfit. ‘Sexy Red Riding Hood’ had consisted of a tiny red mini skirt, a ‘bodice’ crop top that was essentially a push-up bra with poufy sleeves, stiletto boots, and a tiny red cape. Mulan hadn’t stopped staring all night, and Belle couldn’t imagine Ruby hadn’t noticed. The pair of them had danced together more often than not, and Belle had felt distinctly like a chaperone.

She herself had lingered in a corner most of the night, wishing she had someone to dance with the way Mulan and Ruby clearly did. They had gravitated toward one another all night, perhaps without even realising it. She couldn’t help remembering a time when she’d felt that way: drawn to another person as if connected by strings, aching for just one moment more of his company. She missed that. For a moment, she’d even missed him.

The same party had happened seven years ago. The same people had attended, Billy’s parents’ house and back yard had been filled with the same music and drinks and food. Billy now owned the place, his parents having moved to Florida, but it was a cosmetic difference at most. She’d always dressed up, back then. Now, she wore a black dress and a pair of cat ears, and that was more than enough costuming. Belle was more than through with pretending to be anything or anyone she wasn’t.

 

“She should be here soon,” Belle said at last. “She should be- oh, speak of the devil!”

Mulan had walked through the door at that moment, and waved to them both. Again, Belle couldn’t miss the subtle difference in the way Mulan’s smile was helplessly bright when she caught Ruby’s eye, before settling to something calmer, smaller and more familiar when she made herself turn to Belle. Belle thought she’d feel a little left out, if she weren’t more than capable of looking after herself these days.

“Hey,” Mulan greeted her as she slid into the booth opposite Belle. “What’s up?”

“Belle got a humungous offer on the shop but she looks like a kitten just got drowned in front of her,” Ruby told her, before Belle could brush off the question. She met Belle’s accusatory glare with wide, innocent eyes and a shrug. “What? It’s the truth!”

“What’s with all the dead baby animal metaphors?” Belle demanded. Ruby shrugged.

“It seemed accurate,” she said. “I can take your order, then Granny can’t claim I’m just chatting.”

“Sure, I’ll just have my usual,” Belle smiled. Ruby nodded, and jotted it down, turning to Mulan.

“And you?” she asked, and Mulan gave her a warm smile before considering the question.

“I ah… whatever Belle’s having, I guess,” Mulan shrugged. “I’m not fussy.”

“You want the avocado burger, then?” Ruby asked, and Belle held her tongue, snickering: she’d never eaten avocado at Granny’s in her life. Mulan grimaced.

“Avocado burger?”

Ruby shrugged, a teasing gleam in her eyes, “You said you weren’t fussy,” she sing-songed. “Avocado burger with extra hot sauce it is!”

“I said I’m not _fussy_ , not that I’m insane!” Mulan said. “And I know you’re messing with me: Belle hates spicy food. Avocado burger I’d buy, but you pushed it too far there. And I’m from California, so avocado is my bread and butter.”

“Damn,” Ruby muttered under her breath. “So close.”

“Maybe next time,” Mulan consoled her. “You could trick me into ordering raw egg or something.”

“Nah,” Ruby shook her head, still pouting. “I really just wanted to see you eat the hot sauce.”

“There’s easier ways to make me blush, trust me,” Mulan muttered with a soft laugh, looking back at her menu. Belle gaped: she’d never seen Mulan flirt so openly before, nor seen Ruby actually turn as red as her namesake.

“I, ah,” Ruby gathered her thoughts, and Belle caught the very small smile tugging at Mulan’s lips as she studied the menu. “Cheeseburger okay with you?”

“Perfect,” Mulan said, and handed the menu back with a satisfied smile. Belle had to work hard not to laugh aloud at the whole exchange: apparently Mulan didn’t need her help at all! Ruby returned to the counter with a stupid, stunned smile on her face, and Belle gaped at her friend.

“So the fact that my oldest friend is gorgeous, bisexual and single hasn’t escaped you?” she asked, the moment Ruby was out of earshot.

Mulan’s eyes widened, and Belle was amazed to see the tips of her ears glowing red. “Was it that obvious?” she asked, and Belle had to laugh then.

“Oh, only to literally the whole town,” Belle replied. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she didn’t notice you blatantly checking her out either.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Mulan’s expression smoothed, shut down to her characteristic gravity. “I should be more careful.”

“You’re allowed to move on, you know,” Belle said. “No one would blame you.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “I… can we talk about something else? What’s in the envelope?”

Belle felt she wanted to discuss the envelope as much as Mulan wanted to discuss her feelings, but she couldn’t ignore the question entirely. “Another offer on the shop,” she said, shortly. “Anonymous.”

“But… that’s good, isn’t it?” Mulan asked. “The faster you can sell, the faster you’re free to do what you want?”

“I… I guess,” Belle said, wishing more than anything that that truth would register in the part of her that was resisting it. Maybe it was just the thought that, without Gold or the appallingly low sum offered by the city in the picture, she had no excuse to refuse. Maybe it wasn’t about Storybrooke at all, but about the shop itself. “It was my home, you know?” she said, her voice coming out unbearably small and weak. “I don’t know if… if I want to just sell it off like that.”

“Well, is there any way to avoid that?” Mulan asked, ever practical. “Any way to… I don’t know, rent it out? That’d provide some income as well.”

Belle all but burst out laughing, the idea of becoming a rival landlord in Storybrooke of all places almost too ridiculous to contemplate. “Maybe not,” she managed, once she could control herself. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Do you have any ideas at all?” Mulan asked. Belle snorted.

“Do I ever?”

“Maybe you should start by working out what you want?” Mulan suggested, and Belle didn’t miss how her eyes strayed to the counter, to where Ruby was serving Dr Whale another cup of coffee. “I mean, that’s always a good place to start.”

She was right; Belle knew she was right. And wasn’t that the question she’d been avoiding ever since her father’s funeral, and her inauspicious return home? What the hell _did_ she want?

“I guess I’ve never had a problem with that before,” she admitted. “I… I wanted to travel; I had that whole list, remember, my mum’s atlas? But now…”

“Now things are harder,” Mulan nodded. “Yeah, I know the feeling. What the hell do we do when we stop wanting what we’ve always wanted?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Belle agreed, with a wry smile, and they clinked their coffee cups together in unison.

The bell over the diner door rang, but Belle hardly noticed until a small voice – beautiful, ecstatic, _heart breaking_ , as if in perfect answer to her question – rang through the air, “Miss Belle!”

She turned to see Bae before she could stop herself, her face breaking into an uncontrollable smile at the sight of him. Belle couldn’t imagine why he looked as pleased to see her as she was to see him – after all, she was the only one to remember the hours they’d spent together half a decade ago – but his smile warmed her to her toes. She hadn’t spoken to him in almost a month, not since Gold’s edict to Mary Margaret that he wasn’t to come to the library. She’d seen him in the park or on the street, but he’d always been preoccupied with Emma or his father, and certainly hadn’t noticed her. He was happy, and he surely hadn’t missed her. She had missed him more than she could say.

“Miss French,” another voice, cool and detached, came from behind Bae. Belle met Gold’s eyes with a careful, polite smile. They’d agreed on ‘Belle’, but Bae’s presence changed things, and Gold wanted no impression at all of familiarity between them for his son to latch onto.

“Mr Gold,” she replied. He gave her a curt nod, and something about his peremptory manner annoyed her. With a flash of welcome defiance, she pointedly turned back to Bae, who was staring at Mulan in awe. Belatedly, Belle remembered what Bae had been reading lately, and more specifically the book’s setting.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Belle?” Mulan asked, a smile under her cool voice, and Belle hoped Bae’s open staring wasn’t going to offend her friend. Storybrooke was homogenous and almost entirely Caucasian, with a few exceptions. And much as she loved the _Temeraire_ series, they were hardly progressive. Regretfully, Belle wondered if she should have started Bae with something a little less… colonial.

If she hadn’t known Mulan as well as she did, Belle would have thought her mildly amused and entirely uninterested. Her eyes, however, were sharp: they caught everything, and Mulan had been curious about Belle’s past with Gold and his son since she’d come to town.

“Of course,” Belle smiled. “Bae Gold, this is my friend, Mulan Fa. Mulan, Bae is…” she trailed off, at a loss for a polite, diplomatic, discreet way to sum up how she knew Bae, despite everyone but the child himself knowing every detail already.

“My son,” Gold stepped in, smoothly. “Miss French did a spot of babysitting for me last time she was in town.”

Belle met his eyes, and saw hard steel covered by only a thin veneer of geniality. She had started out as Bae’s babysitter, yes, but that arrangement had lasted all of a month. But then, ‘we used to be desperately in love until she left me and I turned into a vengeful asshole’ was probably inappropriate.

Ancient history, now, Belle reminded herself. The memory of what they’d been to one another had been sweet once, but then it had turned sour, a knife in her gut. Now there was just an ache, emptiness, an endless pang of loss: the kind, gentle man who’d kissed her on their first date, tasting of red wine and loneliness and longing, was lost to her now, buried somewhere far beneath his skin. She couldn’t help but hope to see him again, someday; it was a useless desire.

Bae, oblivious to the tension in the adults around him, was all but bouncing on his toes, desperate to ask Mulan any one of the thousand questions Belle could all but hear racing through his bright mind. “Are you from China?” he blurted, at last, as if he couldn’t keep it inside any longer.

“Bae!” Gold scolded, sharply: the first harsh word Belle had ever heard him say to his son. “My apologies, Miss Fa,” he said, crisply. “I’m trying to teach my son better manners than that.”

Bae looked stricken, heartbroken to have upset his father, and he stepped back toward Gold, seeking comfort and forgiveness. Belle saw the boy relax as Gold’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“Kids are curious,” Mulan shrugged, still smiling at Bae. “And I’m sure you don’t get many Chinese-Americans this far up the East Coast.”

“Indeed not,” Gold agreed. “This is hardly New York.”

Mulan nodded, “I’d noticed that. You can inhale here without getting the black lung from pollution.” She returned her gaze to Bae, looking at her now with wide, abashed eyes: knowing he’d done something wrong and terribly unsure what. “I’m not from China,” she told him. “I’m from California.”

“Oh,” Bae nodded, thinking. “My mom lives in California.”

“Does she?” Mulan asked, with genuine interest. Belle listened to this part, too – what she knew of the mysterious Mila could fill a thimble. “Whereabouts?”

“She lives by the sea,” Bae told her. “Because she has a boat. She likes the beach.”

“I like the beach too,” Mulan told him. “But I like the one you have here better than the one at home. You have a lighthouse, and much more interesting seashells.”

“I like the lighthouse,” Bae told her, managing a shy smile.

“My parents are from China,” Mulan allowed, seeming to have satisfied herself that Bae really was just a sheltered, precocious child and truly meant no harm. “And I’ve been there a couple of times. That was how I met Belle.”

“Really?” Bae cried, his enthusiasm returned in a rush, his eyes darting excitedly between the two of them, all but bouncing on the balls of his feet. Belle would never get over how quickly the moods of small children could change, and she heard Gold sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. “What’s it like? Did you see a dragon?”

“There’s huge stone dragons, but none of them are real, I’m afraid,” Belle told him.

“Do you like dragons, Bae?” Mulan asked, and Bae nodded fervently.

“Dragons are my favourite,” he said. Another question occurred, “Did you go to the Wall?” he asked, then. “My teacher says you can see it from space!”

“We didn’t just go there,” Mulan told him, “We camped out all night on it. You can see the stars and the stars can see you too.”

“That’s so cool,” Bae breathed. “I wanna go to China!”

“Maybe you will someday,” Belle said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Have you been to lots of places, Miss Belle?” Bae asked, his wide dark eyes shining with hero-worship, his voice fill of wonder. Belle felt a shiver run down her spine at the silky, bitter, unkind smile Gold shot her over Bae’s curly head.

“Oh yes, Bae,” Gold said, his hand tightening protectively on his son’s shoulder. “Miss French has been all over the world.”

Belle nodded, but her smile was weaker for Gold’s silent censure. She couldn’t help but wonder at the spiteful gleam in in his eyes. An unwelcome thought occurred: he knew how much she wanted to know Bae, and must see how it hurt her to be kept apart from him. She hadn’t thought him so cold as to use Bae to that end, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Belle could see a hundred other questions vying to be voiced rushing through Bae’s mind, but he stalled, unable to pick just one.

“Did you have a good Halloween?” Belle asked, to help him out. He beamed and nodded.

“I was a dragon!” he reported. “And so was Emma.”

The thought of Bae and Emma toddling about the neighbourhood in matching dragon costumes was almost too adorable to contemplate. Belle felt a little misty-eyed, a lump caught in her throat. She wondered if Gold had ever shown Bae the elephant onesie she'd bought him just before he'd turned two, so he'd be dressed up if they got trick-or-treaters after she went to Billy's party. He'd been in bed when she returned unannounced later that night. She knew Gold had never told anyone that part. 

\---

_Belle let herself in with her key. She should have gone home – she knew that, somewhere in her addled mind – and yet here she was. She could take off her heels, curl up in bed next to Cam, and tomorrow he would make her coffee and help her nurse the hangover._

_The door banged as she closed it, her limbs not obeying her order for silence. He was always a light sleeper; she heard the floorboards creak and his cane tap as he came down to see to the disturbance._

_“Belle?” Cam hissed, when his eyes adjusted. She stifled a giggle and waved. “It’s the middle of the night, is something wrong?”_

_“Hey,” she stage-whispered. “Happy Halloween!”_

_“And just what are you supposed to be?” He came down the rest of the stairs, and his sleepy eyes raked over Belle’s skimpy gold dress and tiara. She giggled and did a twirl. She almost overbalanced in her sky-high heels, but he caught her before she fell. Billy’s punch was stronger than she’d thought._

_“I’m Belle,” she grinned. He sighed. His hands were warm on her waist; he hadn’t let go yet._

_“Well, that much I knew,” he said. His breath was warm, too, and it smelled good, like he’d just brushed his teeth. But it was one in the morning, and he was in his pyjamas, so it made sense. She’d seen his pyjamas before, they’d been together for over six months, but she didn’t think she’d ever really taken time to enjoy the view. She staggered back to take a better look. He was beautiful, she decided, his hair mussed from sleep and his robe still showing more of his body than his suits usually did. All rumpled and domestic, and all hers._

_“You were asleep,” she slurred. He nodded._

_“It is the middle of the night, sweetheart,” he reminded her, gently. “I thought you were a burglar.”_

_“Shit, did I wake Bae?” the thought had only just occurred, but she guessed she’d have heard more screaming by now if she had. He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to wake you either.”_

_“I was only dozing,” he said. “What was your plan, if not to wake me?”_

_“To wake up next to you,” she shrugged. “Probably naked.”_

_“And here I went and spoiled the surprise,” he muttered. “How careless of me.” She nodded, and clamped a hand over her mouth, snorting with helpless laughter. “Whatever have you been drinking?” he mused._

_“I think vodka…” she mumbled, “Maybe a little tequila. Just a dram. A drop. A snifter. A tipple. A-“_

_“An impressive vocabulary?” he guessed. She giggled again. He was so clever, her love, so funny. She loved him so much._

_“I love you,” she said, and only when she’d said it did she realise she’d never done it before. Why had she never done it before? She’d felt this way for months, after all. Whatever stupid reason she’d had – fear, probably, or maybe trying to keep some sort of ridiculous distance – didn’t seem to matter anymore. She loved him, and she was tired of not saying it._

_His eyes were grave, serious as they took her in. “You’re drunk,” he replied. She nodded._

_“I am, because there were drinks and there was dancing and it was so much fun, Cam, oh my god!”_

_“Then why did you come here, instead of dancing until dawn?”_

_“I wanted to see you,” she shrugged. “Didn’t you want to see me?”_

_“Of course I want to see you,” he said, smiling. “It’s just a surprise.”_

_“I just… I stood there all night, wishing I could dance with you. I didn’t want to dance with anyone else, even Ruby. I missed you so much.”_

_“But you’re a princess tonight, aren’t you?” he guessed. “From one of those movies Bae enjoys? Shouldn’t princesses dance with princes?”_

_“I’m Princess Belle,” she stipulated, beaming. “As in Beauty and the Beast. No time for stupid princes, I’ve got my beast right here, all snarly and serious and sexy, you know?” Her hands had found his chest, fanning her fingers over his warm body. He didn’t reply. Her eyes were fixed on the vulnerable hollow between his collarbones, exposed by his robe and t-shirt. Her finger traced it; he swallowed hard. “And then all… all soft and sweet with me.”_

_“Belle, I-“_

_Her eyes slipped up to meet his, cutting him off with a look. “I do love you,” she said again, clearer now. “I’m drunk but that’s not why I’m saying it. I love you so much, I can’t breathe sometimes. I really wished you were there tonight. I miss you when you’re not there, even only for a little bit.”_

_“I’m right here,” he said, his voice thick with something her foggy mind was trying to unpick. “And I love you too. I wished you’d been here tonight, like I do every night after you leave. I miss you too, when you’re not around.”_

_“Will you dance with me now, then?” she asked. He shook his head._

_“There’s no music,” he said, with an indulgent laugh “And you’re drunk, and I’m crippled. I don’t think dancing’s a possibility.”_

_“You can sway, and lean on me,” she said. “And I can sway, and lean on you,” she grinned, and put her hands on his shoulders. His tightened on her waist, and she started to sway slowly, humming under her breath._

_“Is that the song from the Dis-“ he started, and she pressed her fingers to his lips, shushing him and humming louder. He chuckled, and kissed her fingertips, and then stepped them back, and then forward. He swayed her around to a drunken, hummed version of Tale as Old As Time in the middle of the night, and Belle swore she had never been happier._

\---

Thankfully, Mulan rescued her before Bae could notice her reaction, although she knew Gold had seen her reaction quite clearly.

“Did you go trick or treating?” Mulan asked. He nodded again. “And get lots of candy?”

“I filled the basket,” he said, proudly, “And then I ate it all!” Gold raised an eyebrow.

“And then?” he prompted. Bae sighed.

“And then I threw up all over Mrs Nolan’s carpet,” Bae finished, reluctantly. “I should have saved some.”

“I bet the splash was something special though, huh?” Belle winked. Bae giggled, a little guiltily.

“Well, I think that lowers the tone sufficiently,” Gold said, briskly. “Bae, do you want to go pick us a table? We can sit wherever you want.”

Bae’s little chest puffed up with the responsibility bestowed upon him, “’K, papa!” he said, and then looked at the two women still watching him. “Bye Miss Belle, bye Miss Mulan!”

“Goodbye, Bae,” Belle murmured, and Mulan waved to him. He toddled off to find a booth, and Gold turned to her with hard eyes.

“Miss French,” he nodded, his voice like ice. Belle inclined her head in response, trying – and failing, she thought – to match his cold civility.

“Mr Gold.”

“In future, I would appreciate your keeping your wild stories to yourself, and away from my impressionable young son.”

“He asked,” Belle said. “And ‘I went to China once’ is hardly a wild story. You wouldn’t want to hear what passes for ‘wild’ these days.”

Gold looked pained, “I apologise, Miss French,” he said, as if he meant nothing of the sort. “Clearly you have far more parental expertise than I.”

“He’s a curious kid!” she objected. “And smart, too. I get you wanting to protect him but this is going a bit far, don’t you think?”

“There is no ‘too far’ when it comes to keeping my son safe,” he ground out. Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m not going to tell him any secrets,” she said. “I’m not going to make any promises I can’t deliver on. You of all people should know I don’t make commitments I don’t intend to keep.”

“This isn’t the time or the place, Belle,” Gold snapped, his eyes flashing. She grinned: she’d gotten to him, and his formal mask had slipped.

“If you really think I’d ever hurt Bae, you’re delusional,” she said. “You’re keeping him away from me to hurt me, not protect him. If you’re going to use your own kid as a weapon, at least own to it.”

“Bae comes first,” he bit out. “Any interests of… third parties are irrelevant.”

Belle swallowed hard, but she couldn’t deny that. She wasn’t Bae’s mother, and so access to Bae had to come through Gold. It hurt, somewhere deep and important, that she had managed to damage the man she had loved so much and so badly that he’d do this now.

“If I can prove to you that I won’t hurt him,” Belle said, trying to sound calm and conciliatory and not tearful. “Then will you consider it? Letting me know Bae, I mean?”

Gold stared at her, brought up short. His eyes darted from her to Mulan and back again, and she could tell how uncomfortable he was having such a personal conversation in front of a virtual stranger. But then, it made her uncomfortable knowing he was using Bae against her: it went both ways.

“If you can convince me,” he said, stiffly. “Then yes. I will consider it.” He fidgeted with his cane.

Belle smiled, tentatively. “Then perhaps… perhaps you could bring him by the library, sometime?” she asked. “If you were there you could make sure I behaved myself, no wild stories.”

“I… perhaps, yes,” he agreed. His eyes slipped from hers to glance at the envelope on the table in front of her, so quickly she almost missed it. He couldn’t meet her gaze, she thought: he always did hate to show weakness. “You’ve kept your promise to keep your distance, that shows a level of commitment, I suppose. I guess it couldn’t hurt to let him come with me, the next time ne needs a new book.”

“Thank you so much, Cam,” she replied, with a soft smile. “I look forward to it.”

“Yes, well, I… as you were.”

He turned, and she gave a sarcastic salute at his retreating back. Mulan gave a low whistle. “Well, that was intense.”

“That was… that was us,” she said. “It’s always been intense.”

“As in being able to cut the tension with my dad’s fencing sabre?” Mulan replied. “Yeah, I was getting that vibe. And he was hanging over his kid like some sort of defensive black cloud.”

“He’s terrified of Bae getting at all attached to me,” Belle told her. “I mean it makes sense. I upped and vanished last time, after all. I think he also likes having the upper hand there, you know, since he can control my access.”

“I get that, yeah,” Mulan pursed her lips. “You didn’t tell me about the cane, either, is that new? Maybe the pain puts him in a mood?”

“He’s had it as long as I’ve known him,” Belle shook her head. “Car accident, when Bae was a baby. His ankle was shattered and never recovered. It was around the same time his wife left him.”

“So at the age of twenty-three, fresh out of college, you decided to get into a serious relationship with a much older, newly-disabled, newly-divorced single father of a six-month-old baby?” Mulan’s eyebrows were sky-high. “Well, you never were afraid of a challenge.”

Belle snorted at that. “When you put it that way I sound insane. I promise he didn’t used to be like this. He didn’t used to be this cruel, at least not to me. I think he’s trying, though. Things are still better now than they were when I first got back.”

Mulan nodded to the thick envelope still sitting beneath Belle’s elbows. “Well, you could make his little dreams come true and sign that,” she said. “We could be gone in a week, no more worrying about his son or you or anything else.”

“Yeah,” Belle agreed, but her eyes strayed to the booth behind them, the curly dark head of Gold’s son, the serious eyes of the man himself. He met her gaze for a long minute, and she felt an electric shiver run down her spine, unable to look away. Something that was close to longing coiled in her stomach, confusing and upsetting in equal measure. She’d hurt him when she left, for all he claimed it was only Bae’s wellbeing he worried for. Maybe she’d even hurt him as much as he had hurt her.

The envelope in her hands was a godsend, a parachute; an escape line out of this whole twisted situation. So why did it feel more like a live grenade, ready to explode?

“Belle?” Mulan put her hand over Belle’s, startling her out of her thoughts. “You know… you know you don’t have to do anything right? You don’t have to sell your dad’s old place. You could stay here, if you wanted.”

“I can’t keep it up to code much longer,” Belle said, shaking her head. “The library will never pay enough. And I don’t know the first thing about leasing.”

“What if you won the lottery tomorrow, and that stopped being a problem?” Mulan asked, her tone light but her eyes grave. “What if money wasn’t an issue?”

The question – the eternal question – underpinned Mulan’s words: _what do you want, Belle?_

Belle was sick to death of not having an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: the tension finally breaks between Belle and Gold


	11. In The Woods, Somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here, my friends, we earn our NC-17 rating ;)

Gold didn’t make a habit of staying open late.

In large part, this was due to his childcare responsibilities – Bae needed his father around as much as possible, and the shop was hardly busy enough to warrant prioritising over family. On rent day, however, Gold stayed open until seven to accommodate those who needed to drop their cheques off after their own work had ended for the day. The day after, he would chase up those few – or many, depending on the level of incompetent optimism rife that month – tenants who had elected not to pay up.

It was five minutes to seven when the doorbell rang, and Gold emerged from the back room to greet his visitor. Someone always appeared right before closing: it was the way of the world. Some tenant or other always found a last minute reason why they simply couldn’t pay the rent this month.

He stopped dead when he came through the curtain. The woman standing in his shop was definitely not a tenant.

He hadn’t seen Belle since their meeting in the diner three days ago, and in that time he’d spared her little thought. Her friend, a friend from her new life, had clearly come to collect her and whisk her back out into the world. Miss Fa seemed a nice enough girl, and she’d been kind to Bae, but the point stood that their friendship had grown from the ashes of what he and Belle had shared before.

That had been his logic behind placing a new offer, this one unburdened by his name. Miss Fa could have her friend back, and Storybrooke could lose the ungrateful deadweight of Belle French. It was a win-win, as long as Belle didn’t catch on in the meantime.

He clenched his teeth at that thought, swallowing down his self-recrimination. It was unkind, uncharitable, unfair… perhaps even untrue to call her that. But it was far easier than admitting to there being anything good left in her, any trace of the woman who had been the love of his life. Anger had always come far quicker and easier to Gold than mourning or hope.

Tonight, Belle had sought him out, which was odd enough. Furthermore, she wasn’t looking murderous, which lead him to believe he hadn’t been found out. Surely if she’d known, she’d have stormed over full of accusations.

“Miss French,” he said, when it became clear she didn’t plan to speak first. His use of the formal was designed to rile her up, to what end Gold couldn't say. She was clenching her hands before her, her eyes anxious but her mouth set in a line. She was uncomfortable: good. Gold felt he deserved one place in this whole town – in his town – where he wasn’t the one on the back foot.

“It’s Belle,” she snapped, sharply, her eyes suddenly coming to life, flashing at him. “I don’t know why you’re so dead set on pretending you’ve never seen me naked, but you know my goddamn name. Use it.”

Yes, he had seen her naked, a hundred times or more, and he remembered every one of them in exquisite detail. His eyes ran over her almost without realising it, and he caught himself wondering if anything had changed: her skin had been soft, smooth and unmarred, but perhaps now she bore fresh scars. Was her stomach still just a little curved, a soft plane perfectly sized to rest his head against, or did her ribs stick out now, her stomach hard and toned, every inch of her built for rough living?

“Perhaps because you insist upon having personal conversations in public spaces,” he replied, testily, to cover his inappropriate turn of thought. “You ambushed me the other night with your pleading to see Bae, in front of the whole diner. One of us ought to maintain a level of decorum.”

“You started it!” she retorted, childishly. “Treating me like a leper in front of Bae and Mulan. Don’t blame me for taking advantage of the situation, I learned it from you.”

He sighed with impatience, coming around the counter to lean against it, nothing between them but a few feet of empty air. It might as well have been the Grand Canyon, for all the distance that had grown between them. Once he had been stupid: he had had dreams of her returning to reconcile, full of apologies and promises. But those pathetic hopes had long since died, and he wasn’t fool enough to cling to them.

“Did you just come here to trade petty insults, Belle?” he asked, suddenly incredibly weary. “If so I would ask you return during normal business hours. I am a busy man, and I was just closing up for the night.”

“No, I…” she took a deep breath, and then managed to surprise him. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t necessary. I’m just… yeah, I’m sorry. I did ambush you the other night, and it wasn’t fair. I should have come here and talked alone if I wanted to re-evaluate our truce.”

Her head was ducked, her teeth on her lower lip, and for a moment she looked five years younger and repentant, as if he’d just caught her stealing the last of the cakes she’d baked the day before, and she was going to make it up to him with a kiss. He blinked hard, trying to dispel the image – how could she be so different and yet so utterly the same? How could she be this snarling, unreliable, over-emotional train wreck of a woman, and yet still resemble the bright, beautiful girl he’d loved so much? How could two such disparate people exist in the same skin and not kill one another?

He gaped at her for a second, and then managed to arrange his features into a gracious smile, and nodded. “Apology accepted,” he murmured. “And… I did mean what I said. I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt Bae, and I can clearly trust you to at least maintain a distance, as you have done since October. If you’re still here when Bae finishes his book, I’ll bring him with me when I bring it back.”

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “I appreciate that.”

“Now then, what are you here for?”

“I just came to formally reject your offer,” she shrugged. “I mean, I’ve yelled it at you, I’ve told you before, but this seems to require some formality. So here it is: I cannot and will not accept your purchase of my father’s property, and I’m here to formally ask you to withdraw your offer.”

So she’d taken the bait, he thought grimly: good. He only had a few days to wait, then, before he’d get the call on his burner phone to tell him she’d accepted the anonymous bid, and she’d be on the first bus out of town.

“May I ask why?” he asked, as if it didn’t matter – as if he was only a little disappointed he’d not get his way. He was still waiting for the cruel rush he always got from manipulating the desperate and unwary, but he just felt tired and a little sick. He’d never outright _lied_ to Belle before, and it said more than he liked about the true state of his affairs that it didn’t sit well with him, necessary as it was.

“You know why,” she sighed, sagging. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“I believe you must,” he shrugged. “If you are to turn down a lucrative offer from a party you know to be a fair landlord – the former owner of the property, in fact – leaving it all in the air, then I believe to ask why is reasonable.”

“A fair landlord?” she scoffed, her bright eyes flashing again, her mirth cut with heavy sarcasm. “Give me a break, Gold. You came to my father, one of your tenants, and threw our relationship in his face in the crudest possible terms, just because I left you. For goodness sakes, don’t you come to me and call yourself fair!”

Gold smiled, thinly, a question he’d always wanted answered finally settled. French may have confronted her about their relationship, but he hadn’t told her how handsomely he’d been paid in the process. He supposed old Moe didn’t want his daughter to know he was complicit in buying her out of town. Gold wasn’t sure he wanted Belle to know either. Thankfully the contract of sale of the shop, the only document left bearing that little slice of history, was safely hidden away in his private study.

“I wouldn’t act all self-righteous over Moe French: we both know that if he were here now, you’d be the last to defend him. The only reason he spent every spare cent on the rent was because the rest went in his cups.”

Belle’s face flushed red, then drained white, then flushed again as a thousand different emotions flashed over her face. “Fine,” she snarled, her delicate fists curled at her sides. “Perhaps I’m just turning you down because after all this time, I’d rather not see my home returned to a man who apparently hates me and sneers at my father’s memory.”

“How easy it would be, if hatred was all it was,” he muttered. What he meant by that – whether his hatred was mitigated or magnified by having her standing before him – was anyone’s guess. He certainly didn’t know anymore.

“What the _hell_ does that mean?” striding closer to him, those fists now white-knuckled and clenched, ready for a fight. She was so close he could smell her heaving breath, her face flushed and beautiful in her anger. It worried him how good it felt to have her this close, the repulsion in his belly for what she was capable of, what she still couldn’t find it in her to regret, warring with a desire for her that he’d never been able to deny. How sick did he have to be, he wondered, to want something so much that he knew would bring nothing but misery and pain? “I thought we’d called a truce,” she continued, anger and hopelessness warring in her voice. “I thought we were done with this fight! Yes, I left, and it was awful, but it was _five years ago_! Was your pride so wounded that even after half a decade you’re still angry over a break up?”

“You left _Bae_!” he exploded, and she recoiled just a little but didn’t move back, her eyes searching his. “He _relied_ on you, he _needed_ you, and you just abandoned him!”

“Really?” Belle’s eyes narrowed, sceptical and shrewd. “This is _still_ all about Bae? Because I hate to break it to you, but he’s clearly not the one I hurt by leaving.”

“You left him with me,” Gold spat, revulsion for what he’d done by keeping them apart, all his spiteful and selfish reasons, rising to the surface. Bae deserved better than a father who would use him as a weapon, and it was a sorry state of affairs when his broken father was all he had. “Everything you called me was true. I am selfish, vindictive, and cruel. And you left him alone with _me_.”

Her eyes softened for just a second, and he saw the moment she saw something else, something hidden and secret, something that seemed to knock her flat. “I… oh god, I broke you,” she whispered, setting back on her heels, taking a step back. “You can’t even see it, can you? Bae’s _fine_ , Cam. He’s happy, and he loves you so much. I didn’t do any damage to him. Whatever you think you are… whatever I know you’re capable of, you’re a good father.”

“You were right about me before,” he said, shaking his head. “He wants to come back to the library, and I denied him this past month to hurt you as much as to protect him.”

Belle took a deep breath, and released it slowly. When she looked up at him, big blue eyes and that warm half-smile, his heart nearly stopped. For just a moment, five years could have been five minutes, and he could almost believe that nothing about her had changed.

“It’s okay,” she replied, stunning him into silence. “You thought you were protecting him. Whatever other intention you had… I know Bae comes first for you. And you just proved you’re willing to compromise.”

“You think I want your approval?” he asked, unable to process the change in her, the return to someone he recognised with heartbreaking clarity. Someone he’d ached for for half a decade, and never known it until now. The woman he loved.

“No,” she shook her head, “No, I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“That makes two of us,” he admitted.

“I… how do we keep ending up here?” she ran a hand through her hair, her eyes askance, her hand shaking. “I don’t want to fight with you, I _hate_ fighting with you.”

“Could have fooled me,” he muttered, bracing his hands on his cane for support, once again feeling caught up in her hurricane of emotions, the confusion and passion she brought with her wherever she went. Without her, his life was calm and still, placid. Stagnant, maybe, but he was hard pressed to say he preferred her perpetual whirlwind to dead air.

Had she always been like this? He couldn’t remember anymore. There had been a time when her emotionalism had sparked something in his heart, kindled it into a blaze and allowed him to feel things he’d long since locked away, love and joy and compassion. He’d loved her for her bravery and her kindness, her adventurous spirit and her warm, open heart. Now those same qualities sent him reeling, left him feeling lost and confused, saddened by the loss of her and enraged by her presence, tantalisingly close and yet unimaginably far away. He wanted her so badly it choked him, and yet she would leave again, and he would be left to endure just as he had the first time.

He needed her to stay, to listen, to open her heart and calm the storm she’d started inside him. He needed her to leave, and allow it to settle, never to rise again. He didn’t know what he needed anymore.

“Do you want me gone, Cam?” she asked him. “If you really do, if you hate me that much… I can do that. I can leave. I don’t want to be here with you hating me. I _hate_ that you hate me.”

“You hate me too,” he noted. She shook her head.

“I’ve never hated you,” she told him, sadly. “I wanted to, I tried; I put my heart and my soul into hating you. You did terrible things to me, Cam. You took your vengeance out on my father and my friend; you shut me out and refused to even hear my apologies. You broke me into pieces and you made me never want to come home. But I’ve never managed to hate you, even after all that. I loved you too much to hate you.”

“Then you’re a stronger person than I am,” he said, not even hearing her accusations around that one vast, impossible claim. “I… I succeeded, on more than one occasion.”

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, again.

“Is it a choice?” he asked, hopelessly, hating her tenacity; that she wouldn’t let it go. “Is there anything on Earth that could tie Belle French down to one sad little town? Isn’t your leaving a foregone conclusion, just like last time?”

“Answer the question,” she snapped, he shook his head.

“Oh, no dearie,” he snarled, welcome anger rising to at last replace the ache of loss in his belly. “I’m not playing this game twice. I’m not going to order you to leave, so you can abandon your home and your friends and blame me when you’re too weak to lie in the bed you made. You want your freedom? Make your own damned bad decisions, you’re good enough at it!”

“You don’t have to be so cruel!” she cried, and he was horrified to hear a broken note in her voice, to see her close to tears. “I don’t deserve it and you know that! Why do you spend every moment we spend together looking for ways to hurt me?” she demanded, marching up so close he could smell her breath and count her eyelashes, and for a moment his heart stuttered and he couldn’t remember his next line, his next insult.

He couldn’t remember, and she was so close, so warm, so near he could feel her warmth seeping into his bones, and all words became small, weak: irrelevant. He couldn’t contain all he felt for her, the anger and the loss, the hate that faded so quickly and easily something else, something older and stronger and altogether deeper. Something that nudged at the edges of the pulsing desire that made his hands itch and his face hot. For a moment they just stared at each other, breathing hard, daring one another to back down.

Gold didn’t know who moved first, but a moment later his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her for dear life, as if his next breath was dependent upon hers. He crushed her to him, his arms wrapping tight around her abdomen and hauling her body against his, and she gave as good as she got, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood as her whole body tangled itself around him.

He couldn’t get close enough to her, his mouth working over hers furiously, bruising, trying desperately to convey in action what words could not. He kissed her hard enough to hurt, but she still fit perfectly into his arms, and her lips were still deliciously soft and pliant. When he ran his tongue over the roof of her mouth, she gasped and shuddered the way she always used to.

She was thinner than she had been before, her body harder and her bones sharper, and for a moment a wave of unwanted protectiveness overwhelmed him. In that terrible second, he wanted nothing more than to keep her safe and warm, and to make sure she had three solid meals a day.

Then she bit him again and surged up, her nails scratching his scalp, taking control of the kiss, and he groaned and was forced to surrender to her. Forced to remember the here and now, the reality in which they screamed at one another, and everything that had once shone had been burned to the ground. All that seemed to be left was this, and maybe it had been inevitable that the fires that had scorched the earth between them could be expressed in all kinds of ways.

They finally had to part to breathe, and he wondered if this was the moment they’d come to their senses, and she’d walk away. She stared up at him, her pupils blown and eyes wild, and he saw her lips were swollen, bruised from his kisses. She was beautiful, flushed and bright and wild, and for a moment all he could do was stare at her, this untameable thing caught in his arms: everything he wanted, and everything he had to lose.

“Belle, I-“

She grabbed him by his tie and kissed him again before he had a chance to say another word, “Shut up,” she growled against his lips, biting his lower lip again, hard, her teeth stinging the abused flesh. “Just shut up.”

He couldn’t think of an argument to that, except to catch her tight around her waist and lift her onto the counter, stumbling a little on his bad leg but catching them both on the edge.

“Didn’t –” she panted, shaking her head, wrenching her mouth from his after a few moments longer. He chased her swollen lips with his mouth, a screaming part of him insisting that he take all he could while she was willing, while he had her here. She kept him at bay with her hand, “I didn’t lock the door,” said in a rush. “Anyone could walk in.”

He breathed hard, staring at her, trying to compute what she was saying. Where this was clearly heading, if she was worried about an unlocked door.

“Still keeping secrets, dearie?” he murmured, his tongue turned to acid once more now it was parted from hers. “After all this time you’re still ashamed of me?”

His hands smoothed up her thighs, hating her thick tights, missing the smoothness of her skin. They slid under her skirt, and grasped her hips possessively, dragging her to the edge of the counter so he was stood between her legs. He ground against her, and swallowed down his slight self-consciousness at being so hard from just this. But she knew he hadn’t been with anyone since she left, and it had been half a decade. When she gasped and shook, clinging to him, it was clear she was no less affected than he.

“We agreed to keep the secret, because of my father,” she reminded him, as if it mattered now. “An agreement you broke at the first opportunity.”

Her eyes were deep, wounded and hurting, and he wanted to apologise to her, to explain what had happened and why, to defend his actions and plead her understanding. He’d never intended to hurt her, not really. Not for the first time he wondered what the hell Moe had done to her as a result of his actions. He didn’t want her to hate him, not now, not anymore. “I was only trying to-“

“I told you to shut the fuck up,” she snarled, cutting him off and the sound of the curse on her lips, vulgar and coarse, did things to him he’d long since forgotten. Belle didn’t swear, not unless she was at the very end of her tether. He’d pushed her to breaking point, and Gold was an arsonist, a destructionist by nature: he rejoiced to watch her crash and burn under his hands.

She kissed him again, to silence him more than anything, and Gold took control of the kiss the moment her hands were in his hair. He ravaged her mouth, exploiting every little sensitive spot he remembered, nipping her lips and lapping at the roof of her mouth until she was moaning, sighing, shaking under his hands.

“Is this what you want, then?” he snarled against her hips. She nodded her head, trembling, her pupils blown and eyes hooded with want. He’d done that to her, he thought, he could _still_ do that to her. No matter how many others had kissed her, touched her, taken her to bed in her time away, he was still capable of reducing her to this with nothing but a kiss.

He felt words forming on his lips: old words, ancient. An instinct born of muscle memory more than any intention to say three words that would break the spell, too heavy for this fragile moment, that could shatter them both.

He sank his teeth into her neck rather than say them aloud, as he tugged down her tights and felt her rock her hips to shimmy them off. They bunched at her ankles, and he stepped back for a second, dragging her forward with him as he pulled her sky-high pumps off her feet, and then the tights with them.

When he pushed his hand between her thighs, he was now only separated from her sopping cunt by a thin scrap of lace. He chuckled darkly at that, the scratchy feel of the expensive fabric against his fingertips. Belle had always been a cotton girl when he’d known her, and had only ever worn lace and silk for his benefit, and on his dime.

They’d been gifts, he found himself stipulating in his own mind, the fineries he’d bought her, lingerie and the heels she adored, a better coat for the wintertime, jewellery. He’d adored her, and she’d had so little money even with what she earned babysitting Bae and tending her father’s shop. And she’d been so clear that they were only together when he wasn’t paying her. On the clock they had to be professional, not even a kiss. For a moment, the briefest moment, he could almost be back in that wonderful time. He could have bought her the lingerie she was now soaking through, and they could be in his home with Bae asleep in his crib upstairs and the whole night ahead of them.

“These are new,” he growled against her skin, pushing his fingers against her entrance and feeling her gush against the lace. He pulled the thin fabric tight, rubbed it against her clit, and she moaned and threw back her head. “Expensive, too.”

“I was in Paris,” she panted, and he felt his stomach clench at the unwelcome reminder: if she’d just shut her mouth, he could almost forget the time that had passed. “When Ruby called I… I was in Paris. They have the most beautiful lingerie there. I treated myself.”

“I could tear it to shreds,” he threatened, tugging hard on the crotch, his knuckles grazing her folds and making her gasp, her thighs trembling. “They’re flimsy, almost non-existent.”

Her eyes flew open, sharp and flashing, and a moment later her hands were on his tie and she had tugged, hard, on the shorter end of the knot. The knot slid up to his throat, constricting. “And I could strangle you with your own two-hundred dollar silk tie,” she whispered, her mouth so close he could smell her sweet breath. “We’re at an impasse.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, breathing hard, his fingers twitching in her knickers and her hand unrelenting on his tie. He couldn’t take his eyes off her: she was glorious, fierce and strong and somehow burnished, like tempered steel, like flame. For a moment he barely recognised her, the familiar Belle who had haunted his dreams obscured entirely by who she had become. Gold was overawed. For the first time, he found he did not miss the soft, sweet, kind girl she’d been when he’d loved her. She had sparked, then, but now she burned.

Her gaze held an equal intensity, her soft pink tongue darting out to wet her lips as her eyes darted from his eyes to his mouth and back. Her breath came harder, shorter, and he felt her tremble around him, knowing that his body mimicked hers.

She broke first: she dragged him by the knot of his tie to her mouth and kissed him breathless, pushing him back by his shoulder as she did and sliding down his body and off the counter. The brush of her core against his cock as she went made him groan into her mouth, and he felt her smile, triumphant.

The woman he remembered would have asked after his comfort, her eyes soft with caring; she would have pulled back and taken his hand, lead him to the cot in the back with a kind, inviting smile. But Belle was no longer that woman, it seemed, and she dragged him bodily to the back, teeth dragging at his lips and hands tight on his shoulder and his tie, allowing him no quarter, no breathing space. He was forced to stumble, his cane forgotten, and it seemed she didn’t care. Maybe she wanted him to hurt; maybe, deep down, so did he.

They fell onto the cot together, Gold all but hurling himself onto the mattress and dragging Belle with him. She landed on top of him, her long dark hair falling in a curtain all around them. He’d always adored her hair: the thick, dark mass of it; the varying floral scents of her shampoo; the way she piled it up in a heavy knot on the back of her head when she read; how he could wrap it gently in a rope around his fist to draw her to him for a kiss, his own captured Rapunzel.

Now she created a den for them, a dark, warm space where the rest of the world – the space that had claimed her, the time that separated them – ceased to exist. For a moment, she smiled as if she was happy, and Gold felt warmed through and through. He smiled back, a wavering but genuine thing. He cupped her face, stroking her cheekbone with the side of his thumb, and she leaned into his touch. The aggression and tension of before was lost in a moment, consigned, perhaps, to the room they’d left behind.

She was beautiful, breathtakingly so, with her pale skin lit with a rosy blush, her blue eyes both sharp and gentle. Here Gold found yet another new woman, a woman who existed between the softness of before and the hard edges that she’d grown since. The light in her eyes was strange and yet achingly familiar, wanderlust settled by experience, innocence gilded by insight. The inspiration he’d always seen in her, the intelligence and humour and appetite for life she exuded were tempered now by a self-possession and wisdom gained in her absence. He hated this new woman for having stolen away the girl he’d loved so very much, and yet at the same time he wanted to know her completely, to learn and re-learn every new contour of her soul.

He saw her blush; saw her catch something in his gaze that made her look away. His hand on her cheek held her still, captive. He kissed her, and she made a sweet little noise in the back of her throat. There were no teeth now; there was no bruising: just her soft lips pliant against his, her hands cradling his head, carded through his hair, and her tresses surrounding them, cloaking and keeping them hidden and safe.

Gold shifted back on the bed to lie more comfortably, drawing her over him. Again Belle surprised him; the hand in his hair, so gentle and comforting, turned to a claw and scraped over his scalp, making him hiss and writhe against her. He bucked up insistently, his hands bruising her hips, and her teeth scraped his jawbone in response.

From there it felt as if they moved by instinct, muscle-memory guiding familiar movements despite time and distance. Her jacket and shirt hit the floor at the same time as his tie, and his hands cupped her breasts, stroking her nipples through through her lacy bra as she unbuttoned his shirt. “This hasn’t changed,” she murmured, her hands stroking soft paisley pattern of the deep blue silk. “I always liked this one on you.”

“I know,” he murmured, his eyes meeting hers, and for a moment they were both troubled by the same realisation: he’d kept it because it had been her favourite. Because she’d worn it in the mornings while he made breakfast, to bed so she would be dressed to settle Bae when he fussed in the night. Because it had smelled like her, and those memories were worth more than every scrap of clothing he owned.

They were bound in that moment: her still over him, legs straddling his hips; him frozen beneath her, locked in the same memory.

\---

_“So you’ve finally turned to a life of crime,” Cam teased, as Belle swung herself around the doorframe, and let the shirt half-hang open. She’d only buttoned it to just beneath her breasts, and the dark fabric brought out the pale luminescence of her skin._

_She laughed, and padded over to him, her hair tumbling around her shoulders and gleaming in the sunlight. “I like this shirt,” she told him, as she kissed his shoulder and then his cheek. “It’s soft, and it smells like you.”_

_“It certainly looks better on you than it does on me,” he conceded, his eyes drinking her in avidly, unable to believe that this bright, beautiful young goddess had chosen to be in his kitchen this morning, laughing in the sunlight and wrapped only in his shirt. He’d hand over his entire wardrobe if she asked it of him, if she promised to always wander around his home dressed in his clothes and smiling like that._

_“You haven’t seen you, then,” she teased. He tapped the tip of her nose with his fingertip, leaving behind a smear of honey from his toast. It gleamed in the sunshine, a shiny little daub on the very tip of her tiny nose, and he had to kiss it away, the salt of her skin a wonderful contrast to the sweetness of the honey._

_“Careful,” she murmured, her voice lower and huskier than it had been before. Her hands were braced on his chest, her warmth branding his skin. “Bae’ll be up any moment, we don’t have time for… whatever that’s leading to.”_

_“Five minutes,” he said, fervently, with a hopeful glance at the baby monitor on the counter. “I’m sure he’ll grant us five minutes.”_

_And with that, he caught his laughing goddess in his arms, breakfast forgotten._

\---

He blinked, his eyes arrested on hers. ‘ _How did we get here_?’ he wanted to ask, ‘ _how did we reach this place where I don’t know you?_ ’

The answers were all there, of course, alive and well in the angry, hateful, resentful part of his mind that wanted to rip her apart. She left. He bullied and bribed her father into ensuring she wouldn’t return. She’d never called; neither had he.

Instead he responded with equal fervour as she attacked his mouth once more, desperate to smother whatever he was about to say. Her lips worked furiously over his as her hands cupped his face, her hips bucking insistently, grinding her lace-covered cunt against his slacks. With practiced dexterity one of her hands left his face and went to his flies, unbuttoning his pants and drawing his out cock at last.

She pushed her knickers aside with two fingers as she held him tight in her hand, and for a moment Gold couldn’t breathe, the heat and pressure of her hand on his cock almost too much to bear. It had been such a long time and he had to grit his teeth to maintain his control. He wanted to buck and grind into her hand, work himself to completion like a desperate teenager, but the reward for waiting would be far greater than the release of letting go here and now.

“Take them off,” he snarled, when he realised she intended to leave her underwear on.

She looked at him with an odd expression, confused and unsure if she should be angry, but clearly decided not to argue. She rose up on her knees and pulled her knickers down with her eyes locked on his, daring him to watch, to make this worse than it already was. He kept his gaze on her as she lifted one leg off of him, and shimmied out of the panties, handing them over with one eyebrow raised.

He took them with a grin, and shoved them in his pocket: if she wanted them back, she could steal them or ask for them, for she had parted with them willingly.

When she straddled him again her wet heat enclosed the head of his cock, and he whined through his nose, drawing a breathy laugh from her lips. All at once his control of the situation was lost to her, and all he could do was hold mindlessly onto her hips through her skirt, and hope she’d take pity on him soon.

She worked him with her hand, still poised over him, rubbing his length between her slippery folds, over her clit, down to her entrance, back and forth. She threw back her head, gasping and whimpering, and he knew what she wanted: she wanted him to beg her to let him enter her, to fuck him.

With a low growl, Gold caught her by surprise and took her about the waist, flipping them over with all of his weight so she was pinned, her hands flying to brace her against his shoulders. He thrust his hips twice more, rubbing his cock through her folds again but this time, this time she was the one moaning, the one in need.

He would have loved to tease her like this until she was reduced to a begging, whimpering mess; he knew her so well, after all, knew exactly how to do it, how quickly she would concede. But the feeling of her heat and her wetness sliding over him was almost too much to bear, and he wouldn’t suffer the indignity of coming first, of disappointing her. She would leave, after this, that much he knew. Perhaps she’d never come back; perhaps that would be best.

But if this was his last chance, he wasn’t going to waste it playing any more games.

“Is this okay?” he growled into her ear, needing her consent, needing to know he wasn’t overstepping. Needing, he supposed, to hear her admit that she needed this as much as he did, that she still wanted him even after everything they’d said to one another, even though she’d run half a world away from him, even though she’d never called.

“Yes,” she gasped, writhing against him, “yes, yes, Cam, please...”

That was all he needed to hear. He lined them up in one motion, and entered her slowly, groaning when she gasped and trembled around him, her channel still as hot and wet and tight as he remembered. Her walls were like wet silk around his cock, and he grunted as he thrust home, causing her to keen and throw back her head in pleasure. He sank his teeth into the juncture of her neck and her shoulder, and pounded into her, unable to hold back, to be gentle, to do anything but rut against her helplessly as she clung to him, her whole body wrapped tight around his.

The pleasure was building fast in him, and it had been so long, and she was so beautiful and he’d missed her so much. Her eyes still looked the same in her pleasure as they always had: dark and wide, a little wondering, and when she kissed him and moaned into his mouth he kissed her back with reckless abandon.

His hand snuck between them, teasing the side of her clit where he knew she was most sensitive, and he was stunned when she keened, thrashed in his arms, and her channel suddenly clenched around him, her hips bucking helplessly as she rode out her orgasm. He couldn’t contain himself after that, the sensation of her slick, hot walls around him and her mouth sliding against his, and her nails scoring his back through his shirt all became too much, and he came as she started to descend from her high, fireworks shooting behind his eyes as his thrusts became erratic, losing all finesse as he groaned his release.

He collapsed against her, both of them still twitching and breathing hard in aftershock, and he hugged her close, hoping she’d believe him just exhausted and not desperate for her touch. In those moments of aftermath, long and dark and heavy, Gold wanted nothing more that to forgive and forget, and let things go back to the way they used to be. He’d despise himself for such weakness in the morning, but right then he just wanted to hold her and be held.

But she would leave, he knew that, and he was braced for it.

Long seconds ticked by: Belle didn’t move, not even when he shifted off her, his arms still tangled around her. To his surprise, she shifted down instead, pillowing her head against his chest.

“Belle?” he murmured, holding her close, his arms moving on instinct, yet more muscle memory, the feeling of her sated in his arms as familiar as his heartbeat.

“Just… hold me, Cam,” she sighed, resigned and sad for a hundred reasons he knew well and yet couldn’t name, “Just for a minute, please?”

He nodded, unsure what else to say to that. He secured her tighter against him, one arm beneath her head, hand splayed over her ribs, the other coming to cover her hand on his chest.

Just a minute, he thought, and then he’d let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: reality intrudes, hard truths are faced, and Mulan takes a step forward


	12. Crash Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come back to Earth. Just gonna stick a content warning on here for descriptions of (fairly mild) depression.  
>   
> And no, Belle is not pregnant. Any symptoms she has are mental health related, not obstetric.

Belle was dozing.

She was warm, comfortable, held in strong arms and pleasantly sore, and for a moment she was just asleep enough to lose all context. She shifted, curled up around the body wrapped around her, and closed her eyes against intruding reality. If she kept her eyes closed she didn’t have to face the fallout. If she kept her eyes closed, she could ignore whatever momentary madness had led her here in the first place.

So she dozed; exhaustion washing over her as if she’d been tired for weeks, and this was her first chance to relax. She slipped into sleep without even realising it, and she could have sworn as she did that she felt a pair of soft lips pressed against her crown.

“I have to get Bae,” Cam said, minutes or hours later, and Belle nodded, snuggling in tighter. She was about to ask where from – who in town besides her would volunteer to watch the baby? Bae cried whenever anyone held him but her and Cam, no one else knew how to settle him…

Then she remembered: Bae wasn’t a baby anymore, he was a sturdy little seven-year-old with a best friend and homework and a smile for everyone. She wasn’t twenty-five, she and Gold weren’t in love anymore, and every second longer she spent curled up in his arms was another second she’d pay for later.

“Right,” she said, coming to her senses and hauling herself away from him, thankful that her bra had stayed on so she didn’t have to cover herself. She hunted for her shirt, crumpled on the floor, and refused to look at him as he sat up behind her.

“Belle-“ he tried, but she stopped him with raised hand; unable to bear whatever awkward, cruel, or painful thing he was going to say to justify what had just happened. His eyes were huge and dark, vulnerable in a way she couldn’t explain, much less deal with. It wasn’t just his cruelty she was afraid of.

“No,” she said. “Please, please don’t. You don’t need to say anything, and I don’t need to hear it.”

He dragged himself to the end of the bed on his hands, so he could stand without disturbing her. She buttoned her shirt as he balanced himself on his desk and reached for his own; they dressed in silence.

“This doesn’t…” she started, then stopped, taking a deep shuddering breath and swallowing down whatever emotion was trying to rush to the surface. “This doesn’t change anything,” she lied. “Between us, I mean.”

There was a moment’s pause, and Belle fiddled with her buttons, refusing to look at him. He took a deep breath; when she looked up, a mask had slithered back over his skin.

“Oh, I’m well aware, dearie,” he lied in return; his smile thin and mean, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. She felt sick at the sneering tone of his voice, and knew his little chuckle was at her expense. “You needn’t worry about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, loathing every inch of him now he stood tall, his hands on the spare cane he kept by the door, his shirt neatly buttoned and tucked away as if nothing had happened. Something had happened: she’d felt it, a shift she was neither comfortable with nor sure she understood. Something was different, and it hurt to watch him pull back again and close himself off, when she’d been in his arms only moments later.

But she wasn’t ready to assign any deeper meaning to it, not when she was so confused, so tired, her head scrambled. She was at an impasse in her own mind: knowing she had caused him to pull away, all but begged him to, and hating that he’d let her.

He raised an eyebrow, “It means this wasn’t unexpected. Since you returned to town this was all but inevitable. You returned seeking closure, did you not? How better to find that than one last roll in the hay with the ex?”

“You think that’s what this was?” she rose to her feet, furious and at a disadvantage without her heels, her tights, even her underwear. He was pristine, missing only his tie and jacket. “You think I came here wanting to just… get you out of my system?”

“Well, why else?” he asked, coolly. “Don’t ask me to believe you came here this evening just to tell me in person that I couldn’t buy your little shop. There’s no shame in seeking one last fuck for old times’ sake.”

Her hands balled into fists, and she glared up at him, half tempted to slap him silly. He took a step back, as if afraid of the same thing, or perhaps out of horror at the things he’d just said. She focused on her anger, the one clear feeling in the whole confusing sea. “You’re a bastard, Gold,” she spat, but even as she spoke, she felt like a player reading lines from a script. These were their roles, their parts in this little drama, however uncomfortable and harsh they now felt. She didn’t know how to do anything but scream at him anymore, any less than he knew better than to sneer. “And what’s more, you’re a rotten liar. You know as well as I do that neither of us planned this.”

“You were the one who said it didn’t change anything,” he retorted. “What other conclusion is there to draw?”

There was a long moment, a pause, and she felt him almost beg her to contradict him, to change her mind, to put a name to whatever it was that had changed between them. She couldn’t find the words. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

“You always blame this on me,” she said, stepping back from him, her hands shaking, taking the easy route: anger, recrimination, accusation, all safe and familiar. “You’re always so certain it was my fault.”

“You came to me, not the other way around-“

“No!” she cried. “Not tonight, us! What happened to us, how it ended! Every time we talk about it you act as if it was all my fault, and now you’re doing it again! You do nothing but assume the worst in me.”

He stared at her, the ice finally cracked over his features, the fire within once again rising to the surface. Belle almost smiled with relief: Gold angry, shouting, impassioned, was so much easier to cope with than his silent, sneering malice.

“I wouldn’t have made you stay, Belle,” he said. “If you’d made it clear it was temporary, if you hadn’t… I know what I am, I know why you needed to leave. But you waited until I actually started to believe you would stay. You waited until I relied on you, and then…”

“I never lied to you, Cam,” she shook her head. “I never told you I was ready to settle down. I never gave you any reason to think I wanted to stay in Storybrooke forever. I didn’t come wearing a disclaimer because I wanted to enjoy what we had for a while, but you knew I still had plans. And then when I planned to leave… when I came to you to _tell_ you my plans, so we could work something out…” she took a deep breath, swallowed hard, the memory of that terrible day still so fresh she could taste the bitterness in the air, smell the rain on his porch as she marched away. “When I did that, you tried to trap me.”

“It’s what I do,” he spread his hands, bitterness twisting his features into something harsh and ugly, and she knew it was all directed inward. “I never lied about that, either. You knew I was a bastard when you met me, but you still fell into bed with me and thought you could turn the monster into a man.”

“That isn’t an excuse,” she said. “You threatened my father. He told me what you said to him, you told him I was… you called me all sorts right to his face! And then, just to add injury to massive insult, you hurt Will and held everything I’d left in your house hostage! How the hell was I supposed to trust you after that?”

“You weren’t,” he said, not denying the charges for a moment, and Belle knew better than to expect an apology. “I certainly never expected you to.”

She stared at him, waiting for him to continue, to explain, to finally give her the answers she’d spent five years craving and unable to work out for herself. How he’d turned so sour, so cruel, after only one fight. How the man she’d loved had become a monster worthy of running away from, a monster she couldn’t bear to face.

How he managed to be both, right in front of her, right at the same time, and still be someone she didn’t recognise. How she could see the monster in him now and still not quite look away… how it compelled her, strengthened her, made her want to reach out… she swallowed hard, and grit her teeth. It was all too much to bear.

“Goodbye, Gold,” she said, and marched out of the back room without looking back. She tugged on her heels and shoved her tights into her purse: Granny’s was only a block away, and he could keep the underwear. There was no way in hell she was turning around to ask for them back.

She blinked back the tears in her eyes as she looked at the curtain that separated him, the shadowy outline of his body stiff and still on the other side. She wanted to apologise, forget the past, return and kiss him again. She wanted to set the damned building on fire with him trapped inside.

Belle clenched her jaw, and slammed the door on the way out. She took a deep breath, and did as she always did when she felt overwhelmed: she shoved the feeling deep, deep down, and focussed on what needed to be done next. Food. Shower. A long night’s sleep.

It was nearly nine when she reached Granny’s, and Granny smiled at her as she entered the diner. “Well, that took a while,” Granny noted, sympathetically. “Gold gave you a hard time?”

The pun almost made Belle laugh aloud, hysterically, but she swallowed it down. “No, no,” she shook her head, hoping Granny wouldn’t notice that she’d left wearing tights and returned without them. “I just went back to work after,” she lied. “It’s community hours, you know, so it’s good to check in every now and then and make sure none of the local youth have decided to have a rave.”

Granny pursed her lips and nodded, disapproval clear on her kind face. “I’m sure Ruby’d warn you if they were planning something like that,” she said. “Or at least invite you along.”

Belle laughed, forcing the sound out from between her dry lips, trying to smile. “I just need a shower,” she said. Granny nodded.

“There’s a lasagne in the freezer when you’re hungry,” she said, then her eyes narrowed. “If I look tomorrow morning and it’s still there I won’t be pleased.”

Belle nodded, trying to smile. Her head was swimming, her stomach churning, every inch of her a smudged, blurred mess, but Granny wanted her to eat and be well, and that was something, at least.

She made it upstairs and showered for a good half hour, trying to scrub any trace of her encounter with Gold from her skin. She had a hickey on her neck, but a blouse with a collar would cover it. She was still sore between her thighs; it had been a long time since she’d been with anyone. She was just thankful she’d had her implant refreshed a few months ago. Showing up at Gold’s doorstep with a positive pregnancy test was a nightmare scenario.

Once, the thought of a child with him had been a daydream, a far-off future plan where they were married, happy and in love. Now, she didn’t know how she felt about that idea. Maybe he was right: if she’d really loved him, maybe she would have said yes to his proposal. She was the one who’d burned that future to the ground, not him, and in doing so exposed who he really was.

There were more important things than love, and Belle had known that then. At least she’d thought she’d known that then.

She chased herself around in circles in her mind, unable to reason how this had happened or what came next. She could be gone in a week, she could leave and never come back, and good riddance. All she had to do was accept the new offer on the shop. All she had to do was sign one contract, and she would never have to see Gold again.

The water pounded her back, and Belle was grateful for the noise, the heat, and the pressure on her muscles. It drowned out her screaming mind, and let her cry in peace where she didn’t have to admit to it.

She’d missed him. She’d missed him and being with him had felt more like home than a week spent squatting in her father’s house. She’d missed him and she hadn’t even realised it until her body was pressed against his, his heart matched beat for beat with hers, and something that had been aching inside her had finally found relief.

And then they’d both shattered it the moment they’d opened their mouths.

Cam had always been defensive. She’d hurt him; she’d left him, however easy he’d made it, however hard he’d worked to drive her away. Maybe if she apologised, pretended to regret what she’d done, then he’d find kinder words for her. But she refused to pretend the past five years had never happened, or that she’d made a mistake. The last five years were as much a part of her as the two before had been, and she was thankful at least not to find a shred of regret in her for the time she’d spent away. She wouldn’t trade those memories for anything, not even Gold’s forgiveness.

Belle curled up in her bed with her hair still wet around her ears, and stared at the shadows on the wall, pretending she could sleep. Granny would scold her for skipping dinner, but she knew if she tried to eat she’d just make herself sick. Her stomach was clenching and twisting, and it was all she could do to hold still under the covers, her teeth grit, and not think about where she’d been only an hour ago, and what she had done. What she had to do next.

A hundred fears, doubts, anxieties and recriminations fought for dominance in her head. Belle kept very, very still, and tried to give credence to none of them. Will’s face flashed before her eyes, bruised and swollen, battered by Gold’s cane and his fists. It wouldn’t go away, no matter how tightly she squeezed her eyes closed.

She didn’t want to do this with him again. She couldn’t. Their story was over. Her time in Storybrooke was over; she didn’t belong here anymore. There was nothing to hold her here, and it was pathetic that she was still in town, clinging to some notion of home that no longer existed. Where was the use in prolonging the pain of being here, of living every day with the deep, aching loss that tore at her insides and broke her heart with every breath?

At some point, Belle fell asleep with accusations and uncertainties still swirling in her mind. It was midnight when she was awoken by a body sliding into bed next to her. “Mulan?” she mumbled, sleepily. She felt a pang of guilt: she hadn’t even noticed the other woman’s absence, for all they shared a bed. “Where were you?”

Mulan sighed, and flopped onto her back. “I hoped you were asleep.”

“I’m a light sleeper, you know that,” Belle said, rousing herself at the tone of Mulan’s voice. Something was wrong, and she pushed aside the tense, sick weight had settled in her stomach to focus on her friend. “What’s up?”

“I… might have really fucked up, Belle,” Mulan murmured. “I might have really, really fucked up.”

“What?” Belle frowned, shifting to sit up, looking down at her friend’s grave face as Mulan stared at the ceiling and refused to make eye contact. “How? What the hell did you do? You didn’t call Aurora did you?”

Mulan shook her head, “I might… Belle, you’re going to hate me.”

“That’s impossible,” Belle soothed, stroking a hand over Mulan’s shoulder, trying to be reassuring. “I can’t think of anything you could do that would make me hate you.”

Mulan gave a bitter little snort, “How about using your oldest friend as a rebound?” she asked, and Belle’s sleepy head scrambled, trying to put the pieces together. “Because that’s pretty much how I spent my evening.”

“You… slept with Ruby?” Belle surmised, and Mulan nodded miserably. Belle sighed with relief, and settled herself back down with her head on her pillow. “Oh god, Mulan, you scared me.”

“You should be hating me,” Mulan said. “You don’t sound hateful enough.”

Belle almost told her what had happened with Gold, almost said it aloud. But she couldn’t: the words caught in her throat, as if saying them out loud would make it real, would force her to think about it. There was a whole world of pain hidden behind that door, and Belle knew she wasn’t strong enough to face it yet. Maybe tomorrow, next week, in a month… but not yet.

“You know, Ruby’s an adult,” Belle said, at last. “She can look after herself. Plus she’s been on the rebound for a decade, and doesn’t ever do commitment. She’s pretty breezy about these things. So you don’t have to worry.”

“Oh,” Mulan murmured, and Belle was sure she heard disappointment in her friend’s voice. “Alright, then.”

“What?” Belle frowned. “I thought you said it was just a temporary thing?”

“I…” Mulan started, then stopped, and made a little noise of frustration. “I don’t know! This isn’t like me, I don’t get all confused and screwed up over things like this.”

“It’s this town,” Belle told her. “It messes with your head, makes you doubt what you really want. It’s all the white picket fences. Plus what happened with Aurora must have done some damage.”

“Right,” Mulan nodded. “Right.”

“But Ruby’s a good person,” Belle’s protective instinct rose up, and she wasn’t sure who she was more afraid of getting hurt: her oldest friend, or her closest. “She’s… she’s kind and smart and she’s a bit chipped but she’s doing her best. If you talk to her she’ll talk back. But if you go all silent and weird on her you’ll hurt her, and then I will hurt you.”

“You’ll hurt me?” Mulan scoffed, and Belle realised what a stupid threat that was. “Belle, you’ve seen my black belts, you wanna rethink that threat?”

“You know what I mean,” Belle said. “I owe Ruby everything, you have to talk to her if you think you’re not on the same page.”

“I know,” Mulan said, sounding a little lost, a tone Belle hardly recognised in Mulan’s stalwart voice. “I know. I just… I just need sleep. Are you ok? How’d the thing with Gold go?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Belle said, shaking her head, trying to believe it herself. “What matters is you’re alright. Are you alright?”

“I don’t know if I’ve been alright for weeks,” Mulan admitted. “But Ruby… she makes me smile, you know? That doesn’t happen a lot.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I think it’s mutual,” Belle said, smiling at the idea of her two closest friends falling in love, and being the reason they found one another. “Maybe you have a choice to make.”

Mulan didn’t reply, and Belle didn’t have anything more to say. Maybe in the morning she could tell Mulan the truth, admit what a terrible mistake she’d made, give voice to how confused and broken she felt in the aftermath. But if she said one thing, then she’d say everything, and the thought of reliving every terrible thing he’d said, of remembering every touch and every softening of his eyes and every memory he’d evoked… she couldn’t bear it. Not now, not yet.

So she closed her eyes, her hand still on Mulan’s arm, and soon enough Mulan’s breathing evened out, and Belle felt herself slip into sleep.

Her alarm blared bright and early the next morning, and Belle felt like she’d drunk a whole bottle of gin the night before. Her head was banging, and her mouth tasting of sawdust. Mulan was already up – no matter where she woke up, Mulan always tried to get a jog in at dawn – and so Belle didn’t have to justify it when she hit the snooze button three times before even considering getting out of bed.

It was Storybrooke, she reasoned, as she stared at the peeling ceiling, trying to find the will to move. The town sapped her spirit and her better judgement, like cement pulling the water from her body, holding her in place; suffocating her. The best course of action would be to accept the offer on the house, and leave before it could rob anything more from her.

But if she left, where would she go? Back to the rent-by-the-week hole in the wall she’d been living in outside the Paris ring road, with the reeking charcuterie downstairs and the sirens at night? Would she call Will and repeat her steps from five years ago, go visit him with his wife and kids in Newcastle? Even the assignment Merida had sent her a few weeks before her father’s death, the chance to go do a series of pieces on the growing Madagascar conservation efforts, wasn’t particularly appealing to her right then.

Nothing appealed: not the library, not the old shop, not even a repeat of last night’s exploits. For a long minute, Belle considered refusing to even get out of bed. She was safe here, comfortable, warm, and still. No one blamed her, no one hated her, no one looked at her like she should be dead in a ditch somewhere. No one wanted anything from her, not work or advice or even her absence.

“Come on, Belle,” she murmured, trying to make herself move. “You have to earn money. Regina will sack you if you don’t get up.”

Another minute passed, and then two. So what if she was fired? Granny still refused to accept a cent in rent or food money, and the library was always meant to be short-term. Belle was under no illusions: Regina didn’t need her now the place was stocked, refurbished, and popular. And it would be hours before anyone cared that she was still in bed.

“Isabelle Rose French!” There was a sharp bang on her door, a persistent knocking, and Granny’s voice cracked like a whip. “Open this door or I’m coming in!”

The sound of Granny’s voice knocked Belle out of her trance. She stumbled to the door, unable and unwilling to cause Granny any pain: Belle didn’t care if she got out of bed, but Granny clearly did. “I’m coming!”

Granny was stood on the threshold with her hands on her hips, “That frozen lasagne’s still there, young lady,” she accused. “You skipped another meal.”

“I know,” Belle nodded, exhausted just at the thought. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Granny’s eyes ran critically over her, and then her whole demeanour softened. “I just don’t want to watch you starve, honey,” she said. “You’re dealing with a lot and the least I can do is feed you.”

“I know,” Belle nodded, a knot rising in her throat at Granny’s selfless care, her boundless sympathy. “I know, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to worry you.”

“Then eat,” Granny ordered. “And get to work on time. It’s almost nine, you’re usually downstairs a good hour earlier than this.”

“Why’d you come up?” Belle asked. “Because I was late for breakfast?”

“No,” Granny shook her head, her frank, no-nonsense stare breaking through all Belle’s weak defences. “I came up because the lasagne’s still there, and then that nice friend of yours came back from her run and mentioned you’d been upset last night. You looked a mess when you came home, and I’m not blind. If you don’t want to worry me, you could tell me what happened. Is it about your dad?”

“No,” Belle replied, quickly. “No it’s… I’m just tired, ok? I have a lot of stuff on my mind at the moment.”

“If I hadn’t knocked on the door, would you have gotten out of bed this morning?” Granny asked, and Belle started at the blunt question. She didn’t have an answer.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Then you’re more than just tired,” Granny said. “And staying in bed all day isn’t going to make it better, come on.” She opened her arms, and Belle stepped forward into Granny’s embrace without a second thought. She smelled like old fabric and the cinnamon she put on literally everything, and Belle smiled even as she felt fresh tears running down her cheeks. She hoped Granny wouldn’t notice: she didn’t have an answer for why she was crying.

Granny held her for a long time, making soothing noises and stroking Belle’s back, until Belle finally wiped her eyes and stepped back. Granny’s hands stayed on her forearms, holding her at arm’s length with a kindly smile. “Now,” she said, “Ruby’s got a stack of pancakes cooking with your name on them, I want you dressed and downstairs eating in fifteen minutes, you hear me?”

“Yes, Granny,” Belle nodded, and Granny smiled at her acquiescence.

“You’re a good girl, Belle,” Granny said. “You’ll be okay.”

Belle nodded, trying to believe her. Granny bustled away with a final reminder of Belle’s time limit, and Belle hurried to dress, brush her teeth, and wrangle her messy hair into a ponytail before running down to the diner.

“Hey!” Ruby called as she entered, and took a seat at the counter. She pushed the promised stack of pancakes to Belle, and while she couldn’t find an appetite, Belle still dutifully ate while Ruby pretended not to be keeping an eye on her. “So I guess you know about last night,” she said with the bluntness that ran in the family, apparently.

Belle paused, and nodded, trying not to give away any opinion as she swallowed her mouthful. “Mulan told me,” she said, cautiously. “Well, she said the two of you... spent some time together.”

“We were fucking like rabbits for, like, hours,” Ruby told her, with a wicked grin, and Belle choked on her orange juice. “Ugh, timed it perfectly!” Ruby laughed, while Belle glared at her, drying her mouth and trying not to cough up a lung. “Relax, I’m not going to break her. And I don’t think she needs the classic ‘if you hurt her I’ll kill you’ lecture.”

“You’re okay, then?” Belle asked. Ruby shrugged, but Belle knew her too well: there was more going on in her eyes than she was letting slip.

“She’ll be off when you are,” Ruby said, lightly, but Belle caught the little hurt note in her voice, the memory of how Belle had abandoned her the first time. “And the sex is good. No muss, no fuss, just how I like it.”

“If you say so,” Belle shrugged. “But just to warn you, Mulan tends to feel a lot deeper than she lets on. Just be prepared for that.”

It was a trait Belle knew the two women had in common, in fact. Mulan hid her feelings behind her stoicism, and Ruby hid hers by being bright and energetic and promiscuous. And Belle had seen the two of them together: Ruby was desperate for Mulan’s attention in a way Belle hadn’t seen in a long time, and Mulan smiled so much more when Ruby was around. Ruby even brought out the other woman’s elusive sense of humour, which was no small feat.

They could do a lot of damage to one another, Belle thought, if they didn’t learn those things quickly and with them how to communicate. The thought hit a little close to home, and Belle smothered it fast.

“You okay?” Ruby asked, when Belle was quiet for a long moment.

“Yeah,” Belle lied. “Just tired. So how’d it happen? I mean, you and Mulan.”

“You want all the dirty details?” Ruby grinned, winking, and Belle laughed and shook her head.

“Please, please no,” she said, holding up a hand. “Just the bare bones, please.”

“Ugh, fine,” Ruby rolled her eyes. “So we’re in the diner, and you’re gone for like, a super long time, and Mulan gets hungry and sick of waiting for you to come back… where were you, by the way?”

“Something to do with the house,” Belle said, waving a hand, not quite lying. “Unimportant, it just took forever.”

“Paperwork?” Ruby grimaced, “Fun. Anyway, so Mulan’s starving, and I get off my shift early so I ask all innocent whether she wants to eat together. I mean she’s super hot so I figure I can just stare at her on the casual and she doesn’t have to eat alone, right? Win-win. So she says yes and ugh, then she _smiles_ at me, Belle. She’s so fucking _pretty_ when she smiles.”

Belle laughed at her friend’s besotted expression, and took another bite of her bacon. Ruby’s sex stories were always fun to listen to, especially when she knew the person in question.

“So anyway, we’re eating together, and I ask why she’s in town because I’m super curious about this ex of hers, right? Like my gay-dar is going off the _charts_ but I have to make sure it’s the _girl_ she’s pining over and not coma boy because it’s _so_ awkward lusting after straight girls.”

She gave Belle a pointed look, and Belle held up her hands, familiar with this running commentary. “Hey, you know we’d be married by now if I things were different,” she said. “Don’t blame me for my heterosexuality.”

“Straight girls are so _boring_ ,” Ruby teased, sticking out her tongue. “Anyway, so she tells me about this Aurora chick, did you ever meet her?”

“Yeah we all travelled together for a while,” Belle replied. “I never really got to know her that well, but she’s sweet. Very quiet, serious like Mulan but way more feminine, all sundresses and cupcakes and pastel colours. She’s an artist, so she used to take us to all the old art galleries in any city we went to, and really understood the art. She’s about art the way I am about books I guess, she was always sketching and taking photos, and they were always beautiful. Mulan was in awe of that, I think. Put her on a pedestal.”

“Yeah, that was totally the impression I got,” Ruby nodded. “She talks about this chick like she has wings and fell from Heaven or something.” There was a trace of bitterness in her voice, of jealousy, and Belle felt the need to say something reassuring.

“Aurora’s incredibly straight, though,” she said. “I mean, Mulan must have told you about Philip?”

“Oh, the guy in the coma?” Ruby nodded. “Yeah, she said.”

Belle saw Ruby’s face close down, the light tone at odds with Ruby’s shuttered eyes and hard mouth. Belle had a flash of memory – a hospital waiting room, mascara smeared down Ruby’s face and blood on her dress, the low, damning monotone of the machines in the next room, ‘we’ve lost him’ – and wished she’d said anything else. Philip had awoken from his coma, after all. Some young men weren’t as lucky.

“So what happened then?” Belle pressed, and Ruby rallied.

“So yeah, we’re eating, and then we’re drinking, and then I mention I still have that bottle of tequila stashed in my wardrobe and we have plenty of limes and salt in the kitchen. So Mulan says how she’s not done tequila shots since she was in Mexico – how cool is it she’s been to Mexico? – so we go up to my room.”

“And let me guess, you talked her into a body shot and went from there?” Belle asked, and Ruby gave a lascivious grin.

“You know me so well! And your friend has some moves, y’know,” she said, slyly. “Aurora doesn’t know what she’s missing. The things that girl can do with a lime…”

Belle stuck her fingers in her ears, “La la la la la!” she sang, tunelessly, while Ruby broke into helpless giggles. “Things I don’t need to know,” she said. “ _Really_ don’t need to know, about people I love and need to be able to look in the eye.”

“Fine,” Ruby sighed, rolling her eyes, “But you’re curious about the lime now, aren’t you?”

“And with that,” Belle slid off the stool, and grabbed her handbag, “I’m off to work. Thank Granny for the pancakes for me!”

“I will!” Ruby grinned, and waved her off.

Buoyed a little by her talk with Ruby, happy for her friends, Belle felt a little lighter on her way to work that morning. The feeling almost lasted. Almost.

Belle couldn’t help thinking it had to be a cosmic joke that with the blinds open, she could see the huge pawnshop sign from her desk. Gold had never been tacky – selfish, rude, and possessive, but never tacky – but that sign was an eyesore. It also made him impossible to ignore.

Belle had never understood why women went back to men who were bad news. She’d pitied women like that, wanted to help, but couldn’t ever empathise. She’d always drawn a sense of strength from the fact she’d never come back to Gold. Even when she’d come back to town, she’d avoided him at all costs for as long as she could. She’d never approached him, never felt like she wanted him back. She’d looked at him, held her chin high, and known she’d done the right thing.

And then last night...

Where was her strength now? Where was her righteous anger, her ability to look at him and know exactly what he was? He was a violent, bitter, broken individual who was beyond all saving. But then, all of a sudden, even despite the sneering and the malice and the cruelty, they’d been kissing and she’d felt like she was drowning in him all over again. It hadn’t felt hateful, or mean, or violent. It hadn’t felt like the continuation of a fight, at least not after they’d gone into the back.

It had felt like a reunion. It had felt like coming home, for the first time in five years. She’d felt more at home and at peace those ten minutes in his arms than in the last two months in Storybrooke.

What kind sad, lonely, pathetic mess did that make her? Belle French, who’d travelled the world, who’d forged her own plans and seen them through, who’d had adventures and made friends and found herself. Belle French who didn’t need a husband, didn’t need the man she’d felt herself so deeply in love with, who had grown out of that toxic relationship and consigned it to youthful folly, naivety, and moved on.

Belle French, who had crumbled and melted into his arms at the first brush of his lips: apparently her strength had been far more fragile than she’d thought.

She slumped, rested her head on her arms, and tried to think through whatever emotion was causing this crisis. If she’d just hated him last night, and expressed that hatred with teeth and hands rather than her words, then she might have been able to breathe this morning. But she hadn’t hated him, not then and there, and she couldn’t for the life of her work out why.

She hadn’t always hated him. In fact, for a long time he’d been the centre of her universe. But then she’d tried to leave, and then his true colours had shown.

\---

_“Oh my God!” Belle’s hand flew to her mouth as she opened the door; Will staggered inside. “What happened?”_

_Will sat down on his sofa, his hand pressed to a black eye and a split lip. He’d taken a beating; she could see that, and her heart thrummed in her chest. “I’ll get you some ice, and the first aid kit,” she told him. “Should we go to the hospital?”_

_“’M fine!” Will slurred, “Jus’ some ice.”_

_Belle rushed back with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel, and the first aid kit he kept under the sink. They were supposed to leave in two days: she’d only been living at Will’s for a week since Moe kicked her out. They couldn’t leave with Will in this condition. Who the hell could have done this?_

_She asked him just that: he looked her in the eye, half ashamed and half proud. “Gold.”_

_“What?” Belle’s hand on the antiseptic slipped, and Will cursed in pain. “Sorry! What did you say?”_

_“Gold did this,” Will told her. “Bastard got his cane.”_

_“Why?” Belle gasped, her heart pounding, her stomach clenching and twisting in horror. Cam had told her father terrible things, refused to return her things, and even cut off her access to Bae… but she never thought he’d resort to violence just to get even._

_“Dunno,” Will shrugged. “Probably ‘cause I got you.”_

_“Where did it happen?” she asked. Will winced at the pain, and looked away._

_“Dun matter,” he muttered. “Le’s jus’ go, ok? I’ll be better in a few days, then we can go stay at my mum’s. You’ll love England, Belles.”_

_“Okay,” Belle nodded, “Okay, okay.” She kept wiping his wounds, cleaning them – they weren’t as bad as they looked, and she remembered reading that superficial facial wounds bled far more than others due to the blood vessels being near the surface. He still had bruises; they’d still have to go to the doctor tomorrow._

_She reached for the phone. “What’re you doing?” he asked. She stared at him like he’d lost his mind._

_“I’m calling the Sheriff!” she cried. “This is assault and battery!”_

_“No, no!” Will reached out a pleading hand, “They’ll make us stay, make us give testimony ‘n shit. C’mon le’s just go. I don’t care about him, le’s just go, please?”_

_“I can’t let him get away with this,” Belle snarled, her anger overcoming her horror and fear for a blindingly clear moment. “I won’t.”_

_“He lost you,” Will reminded her. “He’s paid enough. Le’s just go, ok?”_

_“Okay,” Belle nodded, gritting her teeth against a sickening tide of fury and fear. Had her rejection turned him into this violent brute? Or had this monster always existed, lurking beneath that beloved smile? The thought that she could have loved someone capable of this sort of violent revenge turned her stomach. “Okay, we can just go. But I’ll never forgive that bastard for this. Never.”_

_“Good,” Will sighed, and sat back, closing his eyes. “Good.”_

\---

No matter how many times she remembered Gold’s touch on her skin, tried to rationalise how badly she’d craved it, how keenly she’d encouraged it, the image of Will’s bloodied and beaten face reappeared before her eyes. Gold had done that to him, for no better reason than because she’d left him. Will suffered for weeks from those injuries, and the guilt at having gone back to the man who caused them made her sick to her stomach.

He was bad news. He was the kind of man she’d tell any friend of hers to run from.

But even now, if she could, she’d walk down the street and open the door to his shop, just to see him again. Belle clenched her fists at her sides, and stood very still, trying to keep tears from pricking her eyes. She hated that weakness in herself so much she could hardly breathe.

She returned to Granny’s for lunch, and tried to ignore the concerned looks from Ruby, Mulan and Granny on three sides while she ate. Clearly there’d been some sort of summit meeting about her while she was at work, and the three women had decided to join forces.

“You know I don’t need a suicide watch, right?” she joked. No one laughed.

“Belle, you look like death,” Ruby told her, with her usual grace and tact. Mulan nodded. They were on opposite sides of the bar: Mulan sat beside her, Ruby serving. They were holding hands. “We’re worried.”

“Don’t be,” Belle insisted. “Please, I’m fine.”

“You’re so not fine,” Ruby said. Granny made a noise in the back of her throat.

“Leave the poor girl alone,” she chided, “the two of you are crowding her.”

“Thank you, Granny,” Belle said, and took a very obvious mouthful of her sandwich, “See?” she said, around a full mouth of bologna and cheese. “Eating, like a human. A human who is fine.”

“Alright,” Ruby shrugged, “I gotta go see customers who aren’t in deep denial.”

“I’m not in denial!” Belle cried. Archie Hopper looked up from his newspaper at the sound; Belle cringed internally.

“River in Egypt, babe!” Ruby called back over her shoulder. Mulan snickered; Granny just raised her eyebrows, and moved away to talk to Leroy down the bar.

Belle rolled her eyes at Mulan, “You have no right to judge me today, Miss Rebound.”

“I have every right,” Mulan said, primly. “I’m moving on with my life, and you spent a suspicious amount of time at Mr Gold’s shop last night.”

Belle choked on her iced tea, and looked at Mulan in horror. “What?”

“Dr Hopper was worried,” Mulan said, pitching her voice low so no one could overhear. “He said he knew we were friends, and thought I wouldn’t gossip since I’m new in town. He was walking his dog late last night and saw you leave, looking upset. He’s worried you might be in some kind of debt?”

“I’m not,” Belle said, shortly. Mulan gave her a dead stare.

“I know that,” she said. “Dr Hopper doesn’t. So you went to your ex’s workplace, alone, late at night, and came out a long time later looking upset?”

“Yes,” Belle said, tightly. “Can we not talk about this, please?”

“Belle, come on,” Mulan put a hand on her forearm, “You can talk to me, please? Are you in any kind of trouble?”

“I talk to you, and you talk to Ruby, right?” Belle felt the panic rise in her throat at the thought of everyone knowing, of having to face the terrible thing she’d done. Mulan caught her by surprise when her fist connected hard with Belle’s leg. “Ow!”

“Asshole,” Mulan muttered. “How dare you accuse me of that? Of course I wouldn’t tell her, _you’re_ my best friend! I could _marry_ Ruby and that wouldn’t change: what’s said between us stays between us, like always! I didn’t even tell her what Dr Hopper said, because I know this is a secret. Have a little faith in me, for God’s sake.”

Belle stared at her: Mulan had never spoken to her like that, not ever. Belle swallowed, hard, and nodded, doubly ashamed of herself now. Of course Mulan wouldn’t talk. Mulan was the most trustworthy person Belle had ever known.

“I’m… god, I’m so sorry Mulan,” Belle breathed, tears welling in her eyes, and god she hated how easily she seemed to cry today. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Mulan’s hard expression softened, and she nodded, mollified. “It’s alright,” she said, opening her arms to Belle, who fell in for a tight hug. Her head rested on Mulan’s shoulder; her hair smelled like Ruby’s strawberry shampoo. “I know things are shit right now. But you need to be able to talk to someone, and that someone is me.”

“I know,” Belle sobbed, “I know, I know.”

“Listen,” Mulan said, as Belle pulled away and wiped her eyes on a serviette. She could feel Granny’s concerned gaze, knew Ruby had noticed her outburst, but neither woman came near, for which she was grateful. “I’m really enjoying being here, right now. You know, in one place, near a hot girl who seems to actually like me…” Belle let out a wet laugh, and Mulan gave a rare smile. “And near my best friend, of course. So you know, if you want to stay here for a while longer, I’m here with you. I go where you go.”

“So if I said I clearly have some things to work out here, that I might need to stick around… you’re saying you’ll stay with me?” Belle clarified. Mulan nodded.

“It’s nice having people around, and everything in one place,” Mulan shrugged. “I never got the small town thing but you know, people here are nice. And I don’t like the idea of leaving you here to face everything alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Belle assured her. “You know that.”

“I know that,” Mulan agreed. “I just don’t know you do.”

Belle tried to eat a little more of her lunch. After a while, Mulan took her free hand on the bar. The pressure was better comfort than Belle could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Gold seeks Belle out, and breakthroughs (and real apologies) are made


	13. The Evidence of Things Not Seen

Gold avoided the library, Granny’s diner, and any other place haunted by Belle French for a good few days after their encounter in the shop.

He’d wanted… he didn’t know what he’d wanted to say to her after what had happened. He’d wanted to hold her all night. He’d wanted to tell her how much he’d missed her, how he was sorry for what he’d said and done to her in the past. He’d wanted a lot of foolish, hopeful, terrible things, and she’d done them both a favour by reminding him of who and what they were. She’d come looking for something, perhaps even she didn’t know, and all he could hope was that she’d found it and would now leave him the hell alone.

He hid her underwear in the box of her thinks he still kept in his closet. His offer was formally rejected at the estate agent’s, and Gold at least knew she’d meant what she’d said about that.

It was upon discovering this, a full three days after she’d left his shop in distress and disarray, that he walked back out onto the street and caught the eye of Belle’s friend, the stone-faced Miss Fa, who appeared to be glaring daggers at him over the road. She knew. Somehow he was certain that she knew. Belle had told her. He’d assumed she’d keep it to herself, or perhaps laugh about it with her friends over drinks at the Rabbit Hole. But Mulan’s glare told him something else.

Belle had been one of the most precious, important things in the world to him, once. She’d been everything good and kind and pure. And then she’d upped and left, abandoning him to raise Bae alone as if they’d never even mattered to her, and he’d been left to harden himself against her memory. To convince himself of a new version of events, where she had hidden a heart of stone beneath her kind smiles, and so he was better off without her.

Then she had come to his shop with her fierce eyes and shaking hands, and all his defences against her had fallen without a word.

Now, seeing the raw anger in her friend's eyes, he had a sinking suspicion that he had hurt her with his words that night. That was bad enough, but worse still was the thought that, perhaps, something had happened as a result of their unplanned tryst in the back room. He had only considered afterward, well after she was gone, that they had – in the heat of the moment, he supposed – forgone the use of contraceptives. They’d always been so careful, when they were together, but that night had been something new and wholly different. That, at the very least, required a conversation, especially if there were any potential consequences to be dealt with.

He was on a break from work, the pawnshop an inessential part of his business. He found himself at the library without conscious thought, but was glad when it was empty as he let himself inside.

She was at the desk, her head bowed over a book, her lower lip caught between her teeth. With the sun streaming in from the window beside her, for a moment he was caught by her beauty in the sunlight: the familiar crescent of her cheek, the tumble of her auburn curls, the curve of her neck. Just for a moment.

Then, she looked up, and he noticed other things. Her collarbones jutted above the neckline of her dress, her face bore shadows, stark against too-pale skin, and her eyes held a certain unexpressed horror he could barely comprehend. She looked ruined, and looking at her right then, he knew for a fact that he was the one who had ruined her.

Despite everything he had told himself from the moment she had left him, he felt sick with remorse.

“Hello, Belle,” he said. She swallowed, hard, all her bravado and poise from before gone for a moment before she finally rallied, and hid that broken girl from view.

“Gold,” she replied, with a curt nod. “Are you here for another book for Bae?”

“Ah, no,” he looked at his hands on his cane, trying to say something kind; trying not to be the bastard they both knew he was. He should have found an excuse; lied and claimed Bae had finished his latest instalment, anything at all but this. Anything but the truth: “I’m here to see you, actually.”

“Oh,” Belle looked surprised, and he waited for a flash of anger, a spark of the fire that always raged inside her, anything at all but this thin, papery girl stood before him. “Why?”

“I thought we should try to... talk,” he explained, lamely, making it up as he went. The floor beneath him was a minefield as he took a hesitant step forward. “About what happened the other night?”

“What more is there to say?” she asked, and for a single, wretched moment, Gold saw her anger, and knew it wasn’t directed at him. She was angry with herself. She was punishing herself, and there was only one thing he could think of that would cause that reaction. “You were right. It was inevitable.”

There was something so brittle, so hollow in those words, that for a moment he forgot how to proceed. He cleared his throat. “Well, first of all, and I am as uncomfortable mentioning this as I’m sure you are to hear it, but we didn’t use any protection, and-“

“I’m clean,” she interrupted, blinking and shaking her head, as if surprised by the question. “And I have a birth control implant. So unless you’ve got anything you need to tell me, we should be okay.”

“I don’t,” he said. “I… good,” he nodded, pursing his lips, a weight off his mind at that at least. Once, the thought of Belle carrying his baby had been a wonderful daydream, a hope for someday in the future. Even now, that dream wasn’t entirely dead. But right now, in the midst of the mess they’d both made of things, an unplanned pregnancy could potentially make everything even worse. “Good thing.”

“Was that all?” her eyes were sharp, her hands trembling. He rather thought she wanted him gone so she could cry in peace, and the thought that he had caused her such distressed was unbearable.

“I assumed you would accept another offer and be gone,” he said, carefully. “I thought our business concluded, and yet the house remains unsold and you remain here. I thought you might want to talk about it.”

“I’m staying for a while,” she told him, swallowing hard, marshalling herself a little. “I decided… it’s the right thing to do. I’m sorry if that’s an inconvenience to you, Gold. I can’t say I factored that in to the decision.”

He worried at how his heart leapt to hear that. She wasn’t running this time. She was staying.

“The open road not as appealing as once it was?” he asked, and he meant it to be a barb, an uncomfortable reference to her past crimes, and yet it came out soft, solicitous, even sympathetic.

“No,” she said. “Not right now, no, I… why are you really here?”

“I saw your friend in the street,” he admitted, unable to find a comfortable lie. “She looked like she wanted to murder me, so I thought maybe you… maybe you had something we need to talk about? Something that would inspire such homicidal inclinations in Miss Fa?”

“We slept together,” she reminded him, as if he didn’t relive it every other moment, every night when he tried to sleep. “I promised myself that would never happen again. I promised myself I wouldn’t be so weak. And yet, we slept together.”

“Weak?” he asked, mystified. She stared at him.

“Some women… some women who go back to violent, possessive, awful men have good reasons. But I don’t, so letting that happen was just… it was weakness. It was unforgivable.” He winced at the descriptor, at the raw anger and shame and guilt in her voice, and tried to remember if he’d ever laid a hand on her. It was a ridiculous thought: of course he hadn’t. He’d never have even considered touching Belle in anger, not even at their worst, not even when they were screaming at one another with no way out.

“When was I ever violent with you, Belle?” he asked, horrified at this description of himself. “I’m awful, yes, and I know that between the proposal and going to your father 'possessive' might well have been apt, but I was never _violent_.”

“You beat Will to a pulp!” she cried, as if a dam had at last broken within her, all of that strange tension finally released as she slammed her hands down on the counter, her face colouring at long last. “I saw him the night he came home to me. He had a black eye, a split lip, and a nasty bruise on his left side, and I know it was you. I know you took that blasted cane and used it to-“

“Defend my property and my family,” Gold cut her off, coldly, finally understanding why she hated him so much and finding his anger relocating itself. Five years she had carried that scar and it was based on another man’s selfish lie. She had mentioned Will's injuries before, but only now did he see where the trouble truly lay. Will Scarlet had a lot to answer for: he should be thankful he was a thousand miles away and out of Gold’s considerable reach.

“I was neither of those things by then!” Belle retorted, and Gold shook his head.

“For once, my dear, for _once_ I am not talking about you. What happened between that young hooligan and I was only tangentially related to you, in fact. Do you want to know what really happened that night?”

Belle nodded, her lips pressed together in a tight line, “I want to know how Will ended up in the state he was, blaming you, only days after you believed I’d left you for him.”

“He broke into my home,” Gold said, shortly, and heard a sharp intake of breath, his suspicions confirmed. She didn’t know that part of the story, then. The little punk had lied to her by omission. “It was the middle of the night, and Bae had been fussing so I was awake. There was a bang downstairs. I went to investigate, and found a stranger rifling through my study. He was apparently looking for the few things of yours that you’d left with me, things I had refused to return out of… well, anger I suppose.”

He could see it in her eyes, the flash of memory: she remembered. “Yes,” she nodded. “My favourite sweater, some earrings, and a couple of books…”

“Scrappy-Doo apparently decided to take matters into his own hands.”

“So you beat him senseless?” Belle demanded, her eyes wide. “He wouldn’t have hurt you!”

“No,” Gold shook his head. “I did not beat him senseless; I kept a stranger in my home from harming my family. I am a cripple, Belle,” he reminded her, savagely, gesturing to his gnarled foot. “And I was alone in my house with my baby son. In the darkness I didn’t know your suitor from Adam, and so I did what I had to do to incapacitate the threat. The moment the lights came on and I knew him, I stopped. I dealt all of three hits,” he continued, without remorse, “One to his knees to bring him down, another to his side to keep him there, and a third to his face to cause enough pain that he wouldn’t think to fight back. His head hit the desk as he fell, which I expected did the rest. I fetched him an ice pack and some Band-Aids, but he didn’t want my help. He cursed me out and left, still bleeding, and apparently ran straight to you.”

“He said… he didn’t tell me that,” Belle replied, shaking her head, falling apart before his eyes. “You’re lying, you’re trying to…”

“What?” Gold asked, “What do I have to gain by lying? Did he tell you the location, the time, the reason for this apparently savage beating I gave him? Or did he just tell you it was me, and let you draw your own conclusion?”

Belle’s face had grown pale and white again. “He didn’t have my things when he came home,” Belle stammered.

“They’re still in that box I told you about,” he explained. “You cannot think I would allow him to _steal_ from me.”

She was silent for a long moment. The quiet dragged between them, and he shifted awkwardly on his bad foot.

“Do you… feel better now?” he asked, a little hesitantly. Belle pressed her lips into a thin line, thinking, her fingers tapping the countertop restlessly.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, shaking her head, “I… he came home to me, and I was so angry with you that night…”

Gold stared at her, shaking to his bones. He barely recognised this pale, wan, shaking woman who could barely string her words together.

“You ruined my life,” Belle said, and it struck him to the core as her voice trembled with fury and something worse, something desperate and sad. “Do you know _why_ I was at Will’s that night? Because my father threw me out! He thought I was your _whore_. He wouldn’t listen to reason, Cam, I thought was going to hit me! You ruined my life, so no, this one story doesn’t change that.”

Gold swallowed, hard, the information hitting him like a body blow. Moe threw her out? The bastard had tossed his own child into the street, because of him? And, he supposed, because of the gun he’d pointed at the man’s chest, and the money shoved in his pockets. He’d never thought of Moe French as a violent man, and certainly not with his own child. He’d known they fought, that their relationship was uneasy, but he’d never thought…

“I thought you moved in with him,” Gold said, his mouth dry, his voice weak, guilt sending his stomach and his mind into knots. “I… I thought you’d gone to him. Even when I knew… I knew you’d been faithful. Even though I knew that, I thought it had been your choice.”

“It wasn’t,” Belle folded her arms, walls up, defensive and furious. Her anger would have been a relief if it hadn’t burned him through and through. “You told him about us, and whatever you said made him hate the sight of me. Will let me stay with him, when I wasn’t welcome home anymore. You did that to me.”

Gold wanted to apologise, to grovel, to beg forgiveness. But how was he to know? She had never wanted to talk about her father, never told him why she didn’t want him to know. He’d assumed her ashamed of him, or else avoiding a simple argument. He’d never thought Moe French would fall into the same league as Malcolm Gold. Guilt and grief and internal rage all warred on his tongue, and nothing came out. He wanted to tear himself apart for his stupidity, his cruelty, his inability to simply stop and listen. He’d done this to her. He’d broken her beyond repair, this woman he’d loved so deeply. He swallowed convulsively around a barren throat, and said nothing at all. There was nothing he could say that could cover even an inch of what she deserved from him.

He wanted to comfort her, to make it right, to take away the terrible pain in her eyes. He wanted to resurrect Moe French, and kill him again for his cruelty and negligence. He wanted to go back in time and beat his past self to a pulp for the very same crimes.

“I just don’t know how to come back from the other night,” she muttered, defeated.

“I thought it didn’t change anything?” Gold asked, that same odd hope swelling in his chest. Belle released her breath in a gusty, frustrated sigh.

“You can’t be that obtuse,” Belle spat. “It changes everything, and you know it. Can you honestly tell me you know what we’re doing here? That you understand whatever it is we are? Because it confuses the hell out of me.”

“And here I thought that it was all so terribly simple,” he said, helplessly. “You hate me, you refuse to relinquish your inheritance to me, and yet equally you refuse to simply sell it to the next bidder and leave town. And so we must continue with these unpleasant little spats until one of us relents.”

“That’s bleak,” Belle muttered. Gold shrugged, helplessly.

“We tried civility, didn’t we?” he said. “Look where that got us.”

“It got us to you being outright rude to me in front of my friend just for talking to Bae,” Belle reminded him, and he winced, a little ashamed at the memory. “I loved that boy, Cam, as if he were my own son. That didn’t just go away because we broke up and I left town.” Belle took a deep breath, her chest shaking, her eyes downcast. He wanted to hate her so much, to remember her leaving, how Bae had cried for weeks for her and she had never even called. But then, he’d screened her calls every day before she left town, so there was an argument that she didn’t think herself welcome. He’d seen it the moment she’d set eyes on the boy again, the love in her eyes, the regret, the yearning. And in the face of that, he couldn’t ignore the memories of the family they’d been. How he’d thought of her as Bae’s mother, too, and how wonderfully she’d fit into that picture. “He approached me, and I refuse to push that sweet little boy away just because you’re paranoid.”

“No, I,” he nodded, his shoulders sinking, “I understand that. I’m… sorry, Belle. I didn’t intend upset you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I…” she stared at him, stunned, her mouth agape. “Thank you, Cam,” she nodded, and he swallowed hard at the sound of his name on her lips. “And I am… I am sorry,” she continued, struggling to get the words out. “For leaving him, for… for shattering what we had together, the three of us.”

“But not enough to regret leaving in the first place,” he smiled, sadly, and she shook her head.

“No,” she agreed. “Not enough for that. It wouldn’t have lasted, what we had then. I would have resented you and Bae for keeping me here. I wasn’t selfless enough back then to put all those dreams aside without regrets.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he nodded, and found himself stepping closer. She watched him, measuring every breath he took, waiting for what he would do next.  
“Was it at least… worth it?” he asked, cautiously, not knowing if he wanted the answer. He just knew it hurt too much to hurt her now, and whether that was because of the sex, or the memories, or just his having grown used to her return in an absurdly short amount of time, he neither knew nor cared. He didn’t want to see her hurting, and she very clearly was. In his better moments, he even wished her well.

She nodded, her eyes cast down from his, settled on her hands fidgeting on the desk. “It was,” she said, softly. “I saw everything I wanted to see, and did everything I wanted to do. I made amazing friends, I grew up, I found myself, and I never would have done any of that if I’d stayed here.” She sighed, and smiled helplessly, shaking her head. “That isn’t to say I didn’t miss home,” she added. “That I didn’t miss what I left behind, what I sacrificed for all of that. I found myself with you too, you know. I found family and… love, and all the things I never could have discovered anywhere else. What we had mattered too, and I missed it, even when I was truly happy.”

Gold felt a lump rise in his throat, words he’d wanted to hear for five years finally spoken aloud, and he couldn’t think of anything to say in response.

Instead, without saying a word, he reached out his hand from his cane and braced it on the edge of the desk. Hesitantly, her eyes still avoiding his, Belle reached out her own hand and placed it over his, her palm to his knuckles. That one simple touch somehow said a thousand times more than anything they’d shared before: it was forgiveness, compassion; acceptance. A shockwave ran up his arm from where her skin met his, and all at once he remembered how very deeply he’d loved her, and how little that had really changed.

“I have a box of my own, you know,” she said with a nervous little laugh. “I kept seeing things, I suppose. Stupid little toys and books and things that I had no one to buy for. I started keeping this shoebox of things that I said one day I’d mail to Bae, to… I don’t know. To remind him of me, I guess? To make up for leaving him, somehow, and I still have it. How ridiculous is that?”

“You should give it to him,” Gold said, and her eyes flicked up to meet his in shock. The words were out of his mouth before he could think it through, and he had to blame it on the feeling of her hand on his. Her touch had always been his drug of choice. “It’s his birthday on Friday,” he continued – in for a penny, in for a pound, as his aunts had always said. “You should bring it by and give it to him. I’m sure he’d love it.”

“I will,” Belle beamed, tears in her eyes, flushed and happier than he’d seen her since she returned to Storybrooke. “Thank you, Cam, I’d like that.”

He smiled, just a little quirk of his lips, but she saw it and smiled back wider, and for a moment he was lost in her deep blue eyes, the curve of her lips, in everything that had changed and everything that was still the same about her. It wasn’t as if she’d never left; it was as if she’d finally come home, battered and a little worse for wear but shining bright: the girl he’d known magnified and heightened into someone new, someone he yearned to know all over again. She was right, he realised: she had found herself; she had grown up.

Gold would always wonder what might have happened next, had a voice not come from behind them, “Hey.”

Belle pulled her hand back as if he’d bitten her, and they both turned to see Mulan standing in the doorway, her face unreadable.

“Hey,” Belle brushed her tears aside with a quick hand. “What’s up?”

“I should be going,” Gold said, stepping away and heading for the door, “Good afternoon, Belle.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Gold,” she replied, but there was a softness to how she said it now, something warm that hadn’t been there before. He walked out in a daze, barely registering Mulan’s cold eyes watching him leave, and walked back to his shop with his brain running a mile a minute.

He’d apologised. He’d invited her to Bae’s birthday. He’d held her hand, and she’d said she was sorry for leaving… she’d even admitted to missing what they had, before. A wall had crumbled, crashed and burned before his eyes, and suddenly she was close again, suddenly he felt he knew her again, and all those safe barriers between them were gone.

The world had shifted on its axis the moment her hand had touched his, and he was freefalling, drowning on dry land. For the first time in a very long time, Gold found himself confused and out of his depth, stranded without a plan or a clear way forward, and she could still be gone in a week. She hadn’t promised to stay. She hadn’t found herself a steady place to live, or said she wanted to put down roots. And between inheritance tax, upkeep and bills, she couldn’t afford to dither over her father’s shop forever.

But she had said she planned to stay a little while. That the open road wasn’t calling as it once had. And that, he thought, had to be a start.

A start to what, he couldn’t say. He was more than a little afraid to find out, and yet something kept pulling him back to thoughts of her, to happy memories and to a painful, powerful, terrible hope that – somehow, even after all this time – their story might not be over yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Belle returns to Gold's home for the first time, and Bae has a birthday


	14. Mausoleum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you all know, there will probably not be a chapter this Thursday (06/10/16) because of a family issue.

“What?” Belle tried to laugh off Mulan’s stern look, “Are you out of reading material already?”

Mulan just stared her down, her gaze unwavering, unblinking. Belle shrank a little under that stare, feeling as if Mulan could see right through her, to everything she was trying to hide: her skin still tingling from where her hand had rested over Cam’s; her heart still racing in her chest. Every inch of her body felt like it was shaking, her stomach twisting and churning, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry or simply fall apart, right there behind her desk. She grit her teeth and held her body rigid, under control.

“Are you okay?” Mulan asked, finally, when Belle didn’t say anything.

Belle swallowed, hard, and nodded tightly. “I’m fine,” she lied, and Mulan pursed her lips.

“What did Gold want?” she asked, coming a little closer. Belle was trembling, no matter how hard she fought to hold still, and Mulan made a little noise low in her throat when she saw Belle’s hand shake and came around the desk, pulling Belle into a close hug. “Belle?” she asked, as Belle just stayed still, tense, unresponsive. “Come on, you can talk to me, what happened?”

Belle took a deep, shuddering breath, and leaned into Mulan’s embrace, her arms finally coming to wrap tight around her friend as she held on for dear life. She wasn’t crying, she refused to cry when it felt like progress was finally being made, and she didn’t even recognise this version of herself. She wasn’t the girl who fell apart over a man. Even when she’d left him and flown halfway around the world, her heart smashed to pieces in her chest, she hadn’t felt ripped apart like this.

“He ah,” she swallowed, hard, as she finally pulled away from Mulan and took another deep breath. She wiped the few tears that had escaped from her eyes, and tried another smile. “He wanted to see if I was okay. How ridiculous is that?”

“Well, I saw him outside and was thinking pretty hard about castrating him there in the street,” Mulan murmured, eliciting a small, wet laugh from Belle. “You’ve been in a bad way ever since you went to see him that night,” she reminded, gently. “I don’t know the details but… I figure it was on him.”

“We had sex,” Belle confessed, only just above a whisper. She waited for the horror, the blame, the shock… it didn’t come. Mulan just nodded.

“I sort of figured,” she admitted. Belle stared at her, and Mulan shrugged with a small smile. “What else could it have been, really? I’m just glad you’re ready to say it out loud.”

“After everything he did…” Belle shook her head, unable to meet her friend’s kind eyes. “All that time, and I still just… I went back to him. I couldn’t help myself, I even _enjoyed_ it.”

“You felt like you’d betrayed Will,” Mulan guessed, and Belle nodded, miserably. “And your dad?”

Belle felt her gut twist tighter, her heart thundering at the mention of her father. She shoved the knot of feelings aside, back in the box at the back of her head where it couldn’t hurt anyone. It wasn’t relevant right now, it wasn’t important. What mattered was whatever the hell had just happened with Gold, and what she was going to do next.

“But that’s just it,” she said, “I told him that, all of that, and he said it didn’t happen that way. He said Will broke into his house and… Mulan, I believe him. I don’t know why but I think, for once, I think he was trying to be honest with me.”

“So what does that mean?” Mulan asked, “You managed to sex some good into him?”

“There is good in him,” Belle replied, without a second thought, because that much she’d always known and never denied. If there were no good in him, then the bad wouldn’t hurt as much as it did. “He invited me to Bae’s birthday.”

“That’s… great?” Mulan guessed, and when she saw Belle’s answering nod she smiled, “Yes, that’s great.”

“I hope so,” Belle said, a little shyly. “I… yeah.”

Mulan nodded, and in her quiet, tactful way didn’t push it any further. She did, however, linger in the library for a while, helping Belle unpack the new acquisitions and tidy the kids’ corner from Mary Margaret Nolan’s class’s last visit. Belle could feel Mulan keeping an eye on her, but she didn’t object. She still felt shaky, wrung-out and tired, as if her conversation with Gold had taken every spark of energy out of her.

She called Will that night on Skype, and couldn’t help smiling to see his familiar face despite everything. “Hey trouble!” he grinned, “Long time no see.”

“Been busy,” Belle replied, brushing everything that had happened aside in that one phrase. “How about you? Who’s this little one?”

Will grinned, and lifted the pudgy hand of the toddler on his lap, “Wave hello, Alice,” he prompted, and the kid made a gurgling noise as he gently shook her wrist in a wave to Belle. “Christ, haven’t seen you since this one was a bump, have I?”

“Well, you’ve been occupied,” Belle felt tears in her eyes to see her old friend so happy, to see he had such a beautiful little daughter. This man was the man Gold had felt so threatened by. This was the man he’d thought would steal her away. The first time Belle had seen Will with Ana she’d known she did the right thing leaving him in Newcastle and breaking off whatever might have been between them. She was just grateful he felt the same way, and that there were no hard feelings.

“Too right I have,” Will grinned. “This one’s only just sleeping through the night, and when she’s up she’s a handful,” he squeezed his daughter’s belly playfully, and she giggled. “Aint’cha, eh?”

Belle laughed but, remembering what she needed to ask, she sobered quickly. “Will,” she stared, a knot in her throat, her stomach tight. “I’m… I came home.”

“Oh, shit yeah,” Will’s whole face twisted with sympathy, “God, I’m so sorry about your dad, Belle,” he said.

“How did you hear?” she asked, her voice a little strained. She didn’t want to think about that right now, she couldn’t, or she’d never focus on what she needed to do.

“Ruby was calling folks for the funeral,” Will told her, quietly. “In case you showed and needed support. I meant to call but she never told me if she got in contact with you, and I didn’t want to break it to you by accident if you didn’t know. Figured you’d call if you needed.”

“Thanks,” Belle swallowed, hard. “But that’s not what I called about.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I…” she took a deep breath, and barrelled in in one long breath. “This is kind of awkward, but I need to know what really happened, the night you came back all beaten up. You said Cam did it. He told me a different story.”

Will looked uneasy, looked away, and Belle knew the truth before he even had to say it. Gold hadn’t lied to her. He’d told her the truth for once, after all, and her shoulders felt so much lighter for knowing it. She hadn’t been entirely wrong about him, all that time she’d thought him good and kind beneath his insecurity, his prickly armour, and his sharp temper. He was a mean-tempered bastard, but he wasn’t a violent one.

“It was him,” Will said, at last. It wasn’t the whole truth, and Belle could see it in his eyes.

“But why?”

“Because… because I broke into the wanker’s house, didn’t I?” Will admitted, chagrined. “I was mad about you, Belles, you know that. I was an idiot and I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t want you to have to see that asshole again. Thought he’d either hurt you or win you back and I couldn’t fucking deal with either option.”

“Language?” she asked, tentatively, mindful of the eighteen-month-old sitting on his lap.

“Shit, yeah,” Will shook his head, and looked fondly down at his daughter’s blonde curls. “Well, more for the vocab I guess,” he shrugged. “Look, I’m sorry, ok? I wanted to get your shit back for you so you didn’t have to go near him. Then I surprised the old bastard in the dark and he beat the crap out of me before he knew who I was.”

“And after he knew?”

“He stopped,” Will admitted. “Didn’t give me your stuff, obviously, but… he made me promise to make you happy. Said he was glad you weren’t going off in the world alone, that he trusted me to keep you safe. Then he let me go.”

Belle felt a lump form in her throat, both from relief at the two stories matching up, and the new information. He’d cared. Even then, at their worst, when he hated her and with every reason to, he’d wanted her to be happy.

And she’d spent the night cursing a blue streak, calling him every name in the book and vowing never to speak to him again. Regretting the love she had for him, how she’d let him trick her into thinking there was so much good in him. For trusting him, and letting him hurt Will because of it. She’d hated herself so much for that, and him with it, and now to know it was all based on a misunderstanding…

How much better could things have been, had she gone to Cam’s that night and asked him straight out what he thought he was doing? What if she hadn’t been so willing to use it as a convenient excuse to leave, as the final push over the town line? What if she’d let herself have some faith in him, at the end of it all, and heard out his side of the story?

“Belle?”

“Yeah,” Belle swallowed down the lump in her throat, focusing on the man on the screen in front of her. “Yeah, I just… thanks for telling me.”

“I’m really sorry, Belles. I shouldn’t have kept all that from you,” Will apologised. “But I figured he’d done so much damage already, with your dad and all, and you wanted to leave, so why make things harder? Plus… I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d left him for me. Daft, I know, but it’s what I thought. Didn’t want to give you a reason to think twice.”

“You should have told me,” Belle said. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”

“I know,” Will nodded, hanging his head in remorse. “Should have let you make your own decisions. I just wanted to make it easier on you, y’know? It was dumb

She sighed, but couldn’t find too much anger in her. It was an old lie, and he was clearly sorry, and it was academic now anyway. She wouldn’t have stayed regardless of what Will might have told her, or what Cam might have countered. What might have happened differently was all speculation, and it wasn’t worth the pain of dwelling on it.

“I know,” Will grimaced. “I know, and I’m really sorry if I messed things up for you back then. I was just trying to do what was best for you, y’know? I was so mad over you, I couldn’t think straight.”

“It’s okay,” Belle said. “I’m not upset, I just wanted to know.”

“Are you two… did you get back with him?”

Ah, she thought, the million-dollar question.

“I just talked to him,” Belle said, with a sigh. “He’s kind of unavoidable, and I’ve been carrying him around for so long, I don’t want to move on with this still lingering over me.”

“I get that,” Will nodded. “But for what it’s worth, he really did love you back then. I mean, who wouldn’t have, right? And you were scary broken after we left. I was worried you’d throw yourself into the North Sea any moment.”

“So you think… if there was a chance for us to reconcile, you don’t think I’d be weak to want to try?”

“I think you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t jump into everything with both feet,” Will said, fondly. “You’re the bravest person I know, Belle, and you don’t shy away from things because they’re scary or might go bad later. So go with your gut.”

“Thanks, Will,” Belle snorted. “That’s not cliché at all.”

“Hey, it’s an oldie but a goodie,” he grinned. “And it was good to see you, Belles. Next time text me first so I can make sure Ana’s home and you can say hi to everyone, I know she misses you too.”

“I will,” Belle nodded, biting the inside of her lip, an emotion she couldn’t name rising to the surface. “Give her my love.”

“I will,” Will agreed. “And Belle?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna be ok. I’m just saying that cause you look like you’re strung out, and you have every reason with your dad and all, but it’s true. You always pull your shit together in the end. You’re tough as nails and you’re crazy smart. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Thanks, Will,” she sniffed. “Alice is lucky to have a dad like you.”

Will’s smile could have lit up the east coast.

Something shifted a little after that conversation: Belle even managed three full meals the next few days, to Granny’s approval. Everyone was still watching her, but she felt the relief in them all as a palpable thing when she stopped skipping meals, and Mulan could report she’d not needed prodding to get up in the morning. Belle shared their relief. The spiral she was falling into, the relentless panic and the weight in her stomach and shoulders had been worrying her, too.

If she didn’t think about Moe, or Gold, or any of the other landmines in her head, she could almost feel she was standing on solid ground.

Then the Friday of Bae’s birthday rolled around, and she found herself on Gold’s doorstep, a box of mismatched gifts in her hands, shaking like a leaf.

She wouldn’t stay; she’d decided that on the walk over. She would just step in long enough to drop off the gift and maybe say hello to Bae, and then she’d be on her way out. Just standing here on the doorstep gave her a head-rush she couldn’t shake. How many times had she done this? How many hours in those final days had she spent hammering on this door, begging him to let her in, knowing he wouldn’t? Her hand was raised, fingers clenched around the ornate knocker, and yet she couldn’t summon the strength to knock.

Finally, the choice was taken from her. Someone must have seen her shape in the frosted glass, because a moment later Mary Margaret Nolan opened the door and gave a cry of surprise.

“Hey…” she said, her pretty face lit up with a bright smile. “Oh, gosh, pregnancy brain, I’m so sorry! Your name is… Belle, right? The librarian? I’m usually so good with names!”

“Yeah,” Belle nodded, trying to match that hundred-watt smile and failing entirely. She was nervous, her stomach clenched in a ball, her heart racing and palms sweating. It was so strange to have other people in Gold’s house. This had once been her home, and now a woman trusted and comfortable enough to open the door to strangers didn’t know her name. “I ah, just brought a gift for Bae.”

“Oh that’s so lovely!” Mary Margaret said, and stood aside, “Come on in, he’ll be delighted to see you I’m sure. They’re just leaving gifts in the kitchen.” She stopped then, and turned to Belle with a concerned frown, “Mr Gold does know you’re coming, right? I just remember-“

“Yes,” Belle cut her off, sharply, and then steadied herself and forced a smile. She needed to get out of there. She stepped inside and heard the door close behind her, and for a moment felt horribly trapped. “He said I could come by.”

“Oh, well, good then,” Mary Margaret’s smile returned, and she led Belle through the house as if she didn’t know the rooms by heart.

Everything was the same: the walls were still that rich mix of warm sienna pink and dark wood; the furniture was the same heavy vintage quality – here the sofa where they’d made love for hours, there the table where she’d changed Bae every morning after Gold left for work; the hardwood floors still creaked and the sunlight still filtered through the windows in long golden shafts.

And yet, somehow, everything was different: there were children’s voices coming from the living room; pictures scattered here and there of landmarks in Bae’s life that had passed her by; an ornament missing here and a lamp moved there. There was a gaping empty space on the lowest shelf of the bookshelf by the window in the parlour: her books had once sat there ready for when Bae was down for a nap. She wondered if he’d kept her drawer in his bedroom and her bedside table empty too.

Were there little mausoleums to her scattered all around this house? The thought made her shiver.

She’d expected to feel one sense or the other: that this house was still her home, warm and welcoming, a puzzle piece she’d been missing all this time; or that this house belonged to a stranger, just a pile of bricks and timber and mortar, with no more significance than the tarmac outside.

It was both; it was neither. The comparison and contradiction made her stomach roll and sent a prickle down her spine.

“Here we are,” Mary Margaret announced as they entered the kitchen, where a stack of presents was piled high on the kitchen table. For some reason, Belle was thankful that he hadn’t changed that, at least. They’d eaten every meal at that table, Bae in his high chair and Cam choking down what passed for Belle’s cooking with a smile. They had had their first date here, the surfaces covered in every candle he could find and light before she got home from walking Bae around the park, desperately hoping no one would cough too hard and start a fire. They had first consummated their relationship here, too, on the same table that very night, the candles removed and her legs wrapped tight around his hips. That memory brought an unexpected rush of heat to her cheeks.

She set the box down on the pile, a little behind some of the larger ones, and swallowed hard. She’d entertained some small stupid idea that she’d linger, say hi to people, wish Bae a happy birthday in person and maybe even explain the gift. That had been folly: Belle was suddenly desperate to run and never come back. It had been a mistake to come here, to a house haunted with so many memories. She should have let it lie. She should have left town weeks ago.

“Miss Belle!” a small, ecstatic voice came from behind them. As if on cue, here came almost every reason she could think of why she’d stayed.

Belle swallowed, hard, and turned around to face Bae with the brightest smile she could muster. Her heart swelled in her chest at the sight of him: taller every day, his unruly mop of dark curls quickly rioting out of control, and looking at her as if she’d hung the moon just by showing up.

“Hey, Bae!” she cried, “Happy birthday!”

Bae was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, “I didn’t know you’d be here!” he said. “Do you want some cake?”

“I would very much like some cake,” Belle agreed, a lump rising in her throat. She couldn’t leave now, not with Bae so happy to see her.

Bae’s soft, warm little hand slid into hers trustingly. Belle swallowed hard, savouring the contact, regretting every second she had spent apart from this precious child.

Bae trotted happily ahead, leading her with a certain authority, and Belle followed him into the kitchen, where a large red and blue birthday cake rested on the kitchen island. “It tastes really good,” he reported, as if she needed convincing. Belle’s stomach clenched and rolled, but she smiled and nodded. He dropped her hand as she took one of the cut slices on a paper plate.

“It looks delicious,” she told him. “Where’s it from?”

“It’s homemade!” Bae told her, as if he couldn’t believe the magic that could create a cake such as this.

“Oh,” Belle frowned. “I didn’t know your papa could bake.” Cook, yes: he was an exquisite chef, and once he’d realised she didn’t share his talents he’d quickly taken over meals any night he could. He didn’t have much of a sweet tooth however: she had never known him to bake anything. Baking had always been her area, so long as she had a recipe to follow.

“We made it at Mrs Nolan’s,” Bae said. “She let Emma and me lick the spoon and put in as many chocolate chips as we wanted.”

Belle nodded with understanding: one could easily imagine Mary Margaret Nolan baking a birthday cake, far more so than Cameron Gold.

“Is it good?” Bae asked, worriedly. Belle realised she hadn’t tried it yet. She took a big bite, and tried to swallow it before her stomach could roll again. It was too much: being in this house, with this child, celebrating his birthday when she’d missed so many. She felt she was bursting out of her skin with him smiling up at her, trying so hard to be impressive, when she’d loved him like her own since he was six months old.

“It’s great Bae,” she assured him, as if she could taste it at all. “The chocolate chips especially.”

His little chest puffed up with pride, and he beamed. Belle was ashamed for being grateful when a little girl she didn’t recognise, a little taller than Bae in a pink dress with long brown hair, took his hand and pulled him away. “See ya later Miss Belle!” he called behind him, and she waved with her fork as she put the cake down and stepped away. She couldn’t stomach another bite.

She stood alone for long minutes, watching the party happen around her. The girl who’d pulled Bae away was tying a scarf around another little boy’s eyes as the other children gathered around to play blind man’s bluff. Mary Margaret and a red-haired woman were talking in the corner, while David and a couple of other dads discussed sports. Children ran about, parents watching on or distracted or both, and Belle stood completely still, an observer, no more involved in the scene around her than the discarded cake.

It was a mistake to come here: she knew that now. She had hoped for a feeling of fond nostalgia, to fit into this house in her new role as easily as she had before. She hadn’t thought it would feel like a punch to the gut, to see how their lives had moved on without her. She hadn’t expected to feel like such an outsider in the family that had almost been hers. She couldn’t stomach this sickening regret, this aching sadness that ran so much deeper than anything that had come before.

Coming back to Game of Thorns and finding it boarded up, her father long since taken to the morgue and her childhood home abandoned and dank, had been one of the hardest moments of her life. But somehow, standing here in this house full of light and laughter, she felt far more alone than she had sleeping rough in her father’s empty bedroom.

She wanted to leave. But, somehow, she couldn’t force her feet to move. This was a test of sorts: Cam wanted to see if she was serious about being a part of Bae’s life. If she left now, she knew she could never come back. More than anything, she knew her heart would truly shatter if she felt that door close behind her, and knew that this time it was for good.

“Hey, I don’t think we’ve met,” a blonde woman with kind dark eyes startled her out of her thoughts, and held out her hand, “I’m Kathryn.”

“Belle,” Belle replied. “I’m afraid I know very few people these days.”

Kathryn smiled, “You looked a little lost,” she said. “It’s okay, Storybrooke can be a little… intimidating if you’re by yourself. Everyone knows everyone.”

“Oh, I’m actually from here,” Belle replied. “I just… I’ve been away a long time. There’s a lot that’s changed.”

“Do you have a child at the school?” Kathryn asked. “My husband Jim teaches Phys. Ed., I’d be happy to introduce you around.”

“I don’t, no,” Belle’s eyes drifted to Bae, darting out of the way of his blindfolded friend. Someone had moved the chairs and table out of the way in the living room so they had room to play. “I’m just an old friend.”

“Of Mr Gold’s?” Kathryn’s eyebrows rose. “You must have impressive patience.”

“I babysat Bae when he was small,” Belle explained. “Very small.”

Kathryn’s eyes cleared and she nodded with understanding.

“Which one’s yours?” Belle asked, after a long moment. Kathryn smiled, the smile of a doting parent.

“My Sammy’s the one in the blindfold,” she said. “He’s a bit clumsy, so I hope someone gets caught before he breaks one of Gold’s antiques. Some of them cost more than my car.”

“If he’s smart he’ll have moved all the breakables long before the kids got in,” Belle assured her. “I wouldn’t worry.”

“I’m a parent,” Kathryn laughed. “I always worry.”

Belle nodded, and swallowed down around the knot in her throat. She remembered nights spent staring at the baby monitor, unable to sleep because Bae had a fever. She remembered his first scraped knee as he toddled across the kitchen floor and fell before she could catch him, a head bump as she danced him through the living room, the clench in her stomach every time she had to turn her back on him even for a second. She remembered those days like a physical thing, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from his dark little head, weaving around his friends, laughing as he evaded Sammy’s seeking hands.

Had she worried for him, when she left? Had she sat awake in Newcastle, in Beijing, in Melbourne, thinking of Bae and worrying for his safety? Or had she pushed him from her mind, closed him up in the same box where she’d left his father, and dismissed every twinge of regret with the same easy half-truth: _I am not his mother_?

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice suddenly a little clogged, a little reedy. Kathryn didn’t seem to notice. “Bathroom.”

Kathryn nodded, and gestured vaguely for the small downstairs toilet next to the parlour, as if Belle didn’t know every square inch of this house by heart. Kathryn went to supervise the game in the living room, but Belle made for the stairs, all but running in her desperation to reach relative sanctuary.

She was unsurprised when she saw a slight, dark shape detach himself from the wall in the hallway and follow her. She slammed the bathroom door behind her, and drowned out the sound of his cane tapping up the stairs after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Gold receives a phone call and a revelation


	15. Just an Echo

( _Three hours earlier_ )

“Bae, come on!” Gold called up the stairs, “People will be arriving soon!”

“I’m coming papa!” Bae shouted back, for the fiftieth time.

Gold had known the moment Bae opened that games console that morning that he would likely never see his boy again, especially once he agreed – just for today – to allow him to set it up in his bedroom. Still, the look of surprise and wonder on Bae’s face when he opened that box and found the object of all his dreams lying within had been worth it. However, Gold had drawn the line at the ridiculously violent shoot-em-up games Bae had been dropping hints about. The woman in the store had pointed him toward a game based on Lego blocks and dinosaurs, and Bae had seemed happy enough with that.

He had agreed to come down ten minutes ago to start setting up for his birthday party, but he had yet to appear. Gold didn’t know what had possessed him to invite Bae’s entire elementary school class – along with any and all parents and chaperones – into his home for Bae’s birthday. He hated most of these people, and the feeling was entirely mutual. There seemed to be a consensus in this town that paying rent for one’s accommodation was an onerous and unreasonable request for a landlord to make, and he was some sort of terrible monster for holding people to their contractual agreements.

There were a few exceptions to that rule – the Nolans, Jefferson Hatter, and on a good day Mal Vincent – and Gold counted himself fortunate that they also had children in Bae’s class and would be in attendance. Still, the presence of a few not-unfriendly faces would not balance out the horde of rubbernecking judgement about to flood his hallways.

Gold was thoroughly opposed to the notion of allowing half the town to parade through the house. But Bae had wanted to show his friends his home. Bae had wanted to host a party. Usually the Nolans would have taken on the responsibility, and had a joint party for both Bae and Emma at their house. That was the way things had worked for the past four years, Emma’s birthday being in mid-December, less than a month after Bae’s. Their home was ideally suited to a children’s birthday party, the Nolans were popular with their neighbours and on the PTA, and Gold could keep to himself in the kitchen until the festivities had ended.

Unfortunately, with the building work going on, such harmony was simply impossible this year. And so, Gold was stuck allowing half of Storybrooke into his home, with screaming children running from room to room and unscrupulous adults gawping at his possessions. He dearly hoped that one day Bae would appreciate the sacrifice his father was making for him.

He was about to call to his son again – really, the Nolans would be here soon to help set up, and Gold did not want to have to converse awkwardly with them without Bae and Emma as distraction – when the phone rang. He cast a glance upstairs, knowing Bae would take the sound as a cue to play for another ten minutes while his father was distracted. There was no way around it, however, and he picked it up with a sigh.

“Gold residence,” he answered, curtly. He wondered which of the parents had changed their minds and called to cancel.

“Must you always sound so formal, Cameron?” the voice on the other end retorted, and Gold’s heart sank. He had hoped – dearly – that this would be one of the years when Mila found herself out of cell range on Bae’s birthday. He didn’t want to have to deal with all of Storybrooke and his ex-wife on the same day. Not to mention the clenching anxiety in his gut when he remembered the other woman he had invited.

“I simply wasn’t expecting to hear from you, dearie,” he sneered. “Aren’t you a little busy entertaining sailors in some tawdry port?”

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Mila muttered. “I didn’t call to talk to you. I called to talk to my son.”

“I don’t know that he’ll recognise your voice, Mila,” he said. “It has been a good eighteen months since your last call, and post cards just don’t carry the same currency with a child.”

“He’s seven, Cameron,” Mila spat. “He’s too young to be as bitter as his useless father, thank God.”

“How old is my son, Mila?” Gold asked, dangerously, an old and familiar resentment settling in his bones.

“Seven today,” Mila replied.

“Eight,” Gold snapped back, furious as ever with her callous disregard for their son. He hated that she could rile him up so easily, that he wasn’t simply resigned to this by now. He couldn’t understand what sort of monster couldn’t love Bae, and he hated that his son had to be exposed to it even as infrequently as he was. “He’s eight today. Your concern for him is touching, however. I’m sure your gift is in the mail.”

“I’m in Cancun,” Mila said. “Anything I sent would likely be stopped by customs and would never reach you.”

“Only if you let your little paramour near it,” Gold replied, silkily. “I’d imagine everything he touches sets off the sniffer dogs.”

“Shut it, Cameron,” Mila snapped. “Let me talk to my son.”

“I can’t guarantee he’ll want to,” Gold warned. “Eighteen months is a very long time, you know.”

“I know my custody agreement,” Mila said. “I know you can’t restrict contact should I ask for it. I’m asking for it.”

“In so very many ways,” Gold sneered. “How is Captain Restraining-Order, anyway? Still enjoying life on the run?”

“ _Killian_ is just wonderful,” Mila replied. “We’re sailing around the world.”

“Again?” Gold gave a low whistle. “I can’t imagine there’re too many ports left where he’s welcome to step foot.”

“You can make all your cruel little comments, but at least I have someone who wants me,” Mila said, going for the jugular. “How long has it been since you’ve managed to con a woman into sleeping with you, Cameron? No wonder you’re so defensive of Bae, he’s probably the only one in town willing to talk to you.”

“This isn’t convincing me to expose him to you today, Mila,” Gold warned. “It’s a happy day for him, I won’t let you ruin it.”

“If you don’t let me talk to him, then I’ll complain to the court that you’re violating our custody agreement,” Mila played her ace, triumphantly.

“No court in this country would hand over an eight-year-old boy with a settled, happy life to a parent who lives in a dinghy with a drug dealer,” Gold retorted. “So good luck with that empty threat.”

“Months of litigation,” Mila mused. “Your name in the press. Bae dragged through hearing after hearing. All because you’re too selfish to hand over the phone.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “You win, as always.” He pressed the phone to his shoulder, “Bae!” he called up the stairs. “Your mother’s on the phone!”

He heard the obnoxious game console music stop, and the sound of his son’s feet hitting the floor and running out onto the landing. He came down the stairs three at the time and reached out a hand for the phone. Bae’s eagerness broke his heart, knowing as he did the blow that was about to come. He had the unwelcome thought that at least when Belle wanted access, she meant it as more than a stick to beat Gold with. When Belle wanted to talk to Bae, she meant to know him, to have a relationship, to share her love with him.

“Mom?”

Gold heard Mila’s voice on the other end, and wished he’d thought to turn on the speaker function. All he could hear was Bae’s side of the conversation.

“Are you gonna come see us soon then, mom?” Bae asked, excitedly. “You said you’d be coming up here sometime!”

Gold couldn’t hear whatever Mila said on the other end, but Bae’s face sank, his eyes dropping. Gold wanted to rip her heart from her chest and crush it in his hand for breaking his son’s heart so efficiently. “Oh,” Bae said. “No I get it. It’s okay. Have fun in California.”

Gold put a hand on Bae’s shoulder, and Bae cuddled in close. “Yeah school’s good,” he said. “No, mom, _Emma’s_ my best friend. Yeah the blonde one. Yeah. Yeah.” He fell silent a moment, his face falling as his mother displayed her lack of knowledge or interest in his life. Then a thought seemed to occur, and he perked up, “Oh, mom!” he rallied. “I’m helping with the school play!”

Mila said something for a few seconds, and then Bae explained about painting the sets. “I’m gonna be an artist like you!”

Then Mila said something that caused Bae’s face to turn, his eyebrows drawing together. He pressed the phone to his shoulder, “Papa,” he whispered. “Why wouldn’t you want me to be an artist?”

“Give her here, Bae,” Gold smiled and held out his hand for the phone, and Bae handed it over without another word. “Mila, if my son decides to go to art school and paint or make sculptures or whatever for the rest of his life, I will pay every cent of his tuition.”

“Even if he went out of state?” Mila asked, slyly. “I seem to remember someone saying very firmly that art wasn’t a real career, and that moving to San Francisco for art school was a waste of time and money.”

“Hey, Bae,” Gold held the phone to his shoulder and whispered to his son, “Your mom just needs to discuss something with me, why don’t you go start blowing up balloons?”

“Can I say bye first?” Bae asked, and Gold nodded.

“Mila, we can talk in a second, your son has something to say.”

He handed the phone back, and Bae put on his bravest smile. “Bye bye mom!” he said. “Have a nice time in Mexico!”

Gold thought he heard her say ‘happy birthday’, before Bae handed the phone back and ran off.

“You’ve poisoned that boy against me,” Mila accused, the moment Bae was gone.

“I believe you did that all on your own,” Gold replied. “He’s desperate to see you and yet you’re never here. No gift came from you this year, or last year, or at Christmas, and I love my son too much to lie to him and assuage your conscience.”

“You just want him all to yourself,” she accused, as always.

“I want him safe and surrounded by people who love him,” Gold told her. “I want him to feel wanted.”

“I’m surprised you’d know the feeling,” Mila sneered. “It must be guesswork on your part.”

“And all the easier without you around,” Gold retorted. “I just thank God you left when he was too young to miss you, before you could damage him.”

“You’d done enough damage to me by then that I had no choice,” Mila said.

“No, you were so sick and tired of a husband with a disability and a crying child, that you couldn’t resist the charms of a con man in a bar,” Gold corrected. “If you’re not bright enough to understand why uprooting a financially secure life with a newborn baby for the sake of a half-baked fantasy was a bad idea, then I can’t help you. Give my best to Captain Non-Extradition, by the way,” he said. “I’m sure he’ll need all the luck he can get the next time the police catch up to him.”

“At least he’s enough of a man to take what he wants,” Mila spat. “You just cower behind that boy and pretend your fear is strength. It isn’t. And someday, everyone will see that.”

“And you wonder why I don’t pay for you to fly in for the holidays,” Gold said. “I’ve had quite enough of you now, dearie. Go back to your dinghy and leave me and my son in peace.”

He hung up before she could reply, and – belatedly – remembered to turn on the caller ID. There had been a brief power cut the night before that had reset many of the electronics, a fact he now regretted. If she called again, he would know to hang up immediately.

Gold took a deep breath, and went through to the living room, where Bae was desperately holding on to the end of a full balloon to prevent the air escaping. “I can’t tie it, papa,” he said, mournfully. “It’s too twisty.”

“Give it here, Bae,” he said, and carefully pinched the neck just below Bae’s own fingers, so that when Bae let go the air remained. His fingers were far more dextrous than an eight-year-old’s, and he had it tied in moments. “There,” he said, handing it back. “All tied up safe.”

“I can’t do that,” Bae complained. “I tried like you showed me but my fingers are too little.”

“You’ll get there,” Gold assured him, ruffling his hair. “For now, how about you fill them up and I tie them?”

“Deal,” Bae grinned, and giggled when Gold held out his hand to shake. The sound of his son’s laughter soothed many of the old wounds Mila had reopened. He had meant what he’d said: it was better for them all that she had left when she had, when Bae was only six months old and too young to remember her. She had never been cut out for motherhood, for all that they’d both paid lip service to the idea of having a family together.

For Gold it had been desire for the stable, conventional, loving home he’d never had. He’d never known his mother, and his father had left him in the care of his two great-aunts in a Glaswegian suburb and vanished when he was eight years old. When he felt charitable, he believed Mila had agreed to that vision because she didn’t want to be alone. When he didn’t – such as right now – he was more inclined to think she had seen his real estate holdings, his large home, and his loneliness, and taken advantage. And of course, eventually Mila had come to realise that Gold had no intention of uprooting at her whim, and that money could not substitute for physical attraction or an emotional connection. The injury to his leg had only sealed it. If there was one thing Mila had always been disgusted by, it was any form of weakness.

It had been scant weeks between Mila meeting a dashing young biker down at the Rabbit Hole one night, and her packing her bags to follow him to Santa Cruz. She hadn’t been back to Storybrooke since. Mila had left with her sailor in June, and Belle had returned from university that October. Happy coincidence had made it so that her studies had kept her out of Storybrooke for the duration of his short-lived marriage. He’d enjoyed the fact that Belle hadn’t known him then, that she had come into his life with fresh eyes, free of any memory of their many fights on Main Street and shouting matches outside Granny’s.

He only realised now, far too late, that perhaps telling her the whole sordid tale may have explained some – if not all – of his reaction to Belle seemingly running off with a dashing young man to see the world. He hadn’t been willing to uproot for her, either, not with his and Bae’s whole financial future tied to Storybrooke.

Perhaps it was only now, with Mila’s words still ringing in his ears and Belle’s presence looming in a few short hours, that Gold could put those two pieces together. Maybe he had looked at Will Scarlet with his scruffy chin and his leather jacket, and seen the echo of Killian Jones. Maybe he had looked at Belle, leaving town as she’d always planned with the help of a close friend, and seen Mila, burning their marriage down for the sake of her new lover.

Whatever Belle might have done, she was not Mila. Belle had loved Bae – Belle still loved Bae; he could see it in every line of her face every time his name was mentioned – and she regretted leaving him. Belle had been ten years younger than Mila, and had never promised forever, for all Gold had wanted to believe she had. When she left she was twenty-five and drunk on wanderlust, and she had never made any sort of commitment to the contrary. To compare Belle to Mila was to insult her, to imply a level of spite and selfishness that was simply untrue. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, where Mila seemed to want nothing more.

In the end, Mila had left because she resented him, and everything he represented. Belle had left because she hadn’t wanted to end up like that. Any nastiness between them because of that was as much – if not more – a result of his response to her leaving than the leaving itself.

And now she was back. She was back, and she was sorry for what she’d done, and she seemed to want to make amends. There was opportunity here, a chance at grace, and he suddenly felt a fool for having not seen it sooner.

“Papa?” Bae blinked up at him, startling him out of his thoughts, “You ok?”

“Yes, yes of course,” Gold said, tying a knot in the balloon he was holding and accepting another from Bae. They had made a sizeable pile together, and he could see their supply dwindling. “Hey, Bae?”

“Yeah papa?”

“Do you want to talk about what your mother said?” he asked. “Anything she said, I mean.”

Bae looked at him, and for a second Gold thought he was going to shake his head and say no, and bottle it up inside. His boy was so quiet and so good, Gold sometimes missed the days when he had been a toddler and all his feelings expressed on the surface. He was too much like his father, Gold thought: too willing to turn circumspect, and hide his emotions behind a quiet face.

“She said she was proud I was painting,” he said, at last. “But that you wouldn’t be. She said you wouldn’t want me to be like her.”

“I want you to be like you,” Gold insisted. “Whoever that is. Your mom… you know your mom and I don’t get on like we used to. But she’s a gifted artist,” Gold had to swallow down his instinctive bile at praising Mila, but for Bae’s sake he’d sing her virtues to the moon and back. “And so are you. If you want to pursue that when you’re older, I’ll buy the canvas myself.”

“I like painting,” Bae said. “And mom’s been to a lot of places too, hasn’t she?”

Gold sighed: he’d known this subject would come up, ever since Belle had opened her mouth about China. Any other day, he would shut the subject down quickly and move along, but Mila’s call gave him pause. He was allowing Belle to come to the party and bring her box of gifts, and tell her stories. He was ready to acknowledge that, perhaps, her leaving was what had been best for her, even if it hadn’t been best for him and Bae. The next step, surely, was to put such new thinking into practice.

“She has,” Gold nodded. “Not as many as Miss Belle from the library, though. You remember, she told you about China?”

“You said she’d been all over the world,” Bae’s voice held a hushed, overawed tone, and Gold fought the cowardly urge to back down. But he would not be the man Mila accused him of being. For all his fear, all his loneliness, he would not hold Bae back. He’d tried holding on tight to people he loved before, after all, and it never seemed to work.

“She has,” he confirmed. “Maybe you will too, someday, hmm?”

Bae beamed, “I wanna see a dragon!” he announced, and in that moment Gold realised how ridiculous he was being, to assign such thoughts to a newly-minted eight-year-old. Bae’s concerns were small still: his best friends, his books, make believe games and elementary school homework. It was best to start now, though, Gold supposed. To make sure Bae didn’t grow to believe, however subliminally, that his father would ever turn into a monster and hold him down.

“And so you shall, I’m sure,” he grinned, and took another deep breath. Maybe it was the prospect of Belle’s visit, he didn’t know, but something was making him want to fight the fear coiling in his gut, the fierce protectionism that threatened to do more harm than good. He didn’t want to be the man Mila divorced and Belle had come to despise. He didn’t want Bae to see that man either. “Maybe we could take a trip to China sometime, hmm? See those stone monstrosities I’ve heard so much about?”

“Really?” Bae bounced in his chair, and in the process released his grip on his balloon. The air released in a _woosh_ , blasting into his face, and his perplexed expression before he laughed was priceless.

“It bears consideration,” Gold agreed. “Why should your mom get all the fun, after all? I’m sure you’re big enough now for a plane ride or two.”

At the mention of Mila, Gold cursed himself to see his little son’s face clouding again. Perhaps Bae had entertained some notion of his mother joining them on this hypothetical trip, which his words had dashed. “Why isn’t she coming back?” Bae asked, and Gold sighed: he’d been waiting for that question for years. “She said she’d be coming up to New York but that she wouldn’t come here. And I don’t like going to California. Her house smells weird.”

Gold bit back a comment about exactly where that telltale sickly sweet smell came from. “She’s very busy, Bae,” he soothed. “She and Killian are sailing around the world. And if you don’t want to go to California, then I certainly won’t make you. Bae… do you miss your mom?” Gold wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer, but he knew the question had to be asked.

“I… don’t know _how_ ,” Bae said, at last, his voice coloured with frustration. “Emma missed her mom so much she cried when her mom went out of town, but I don’t feel like crying.”

“Well, Emma’s mother is part of her everyday life. You miss the things you’re used to when they’re gone because they leave a space.”

“You’re not gonna move to California, right?” Bae frowned. “I think I’d miss _you_.”

Gold’s heart swelled in his chest, and he leaned down from his seat and drew Bae into a hug, holding him tight. “Of course not,” he said, softly. “I’ll never, ever leave you Bae. I promise.”

“Good,” Bae muttered, fiercely. “Good.”

They held each other that way for a long time, Gold murmuring soothing sounds as Bae held on for dear life. Gold hauled him up to sit on his lap after a while, and while it perhaps wasn’t the happiest birthday activity Gold could imagine, he knew he never wanted to be anywhere else. “You’re getting heavy, m’boy,” he muttered and tickled Bae’s sides, making him wriggle and laugh. “Soon you’ll be too big for this.”

“Big enough to ride a bike without pads?” Bae checked – his dearest wish, since Emma didn’t wear safety pads and pad-less riding was therefore the coolest thing Bae could think of – and Gold chuckled and shook his head.

“You’ll be thirty and I’ll still be yelling at you from my wheelchair to wear pads.”

“ _Papa_ …” Bae whined. “You can’t do that when I’m big!”

“You’re big now, it’s not going to stop me,” Gold said, firmly. “You’re going to be tall like your mom, taller than me, and you’ll still be my baby.”

Bae seemed not to know how to take that. He just cuddled in close with a surprising lack of an argument, and held on a while longer. Gold cursed Mila in his mind, for all he loved this all-too-rare closeness: he had forgotten how upsetting a brief phone call from her could be for Bae.

“Hey, you want some good news?” Gold asked, unable to believe he was saying this but needing to say something to bring back the bright, happy boy he’d had before Mila called.

“Sure.”

“Miss Belle said she has a birthday present for you.”

“Really?” Bae beamed, and Gold’s heart tightened in his chest. He had been right: there was no way of breaking Bae’s inexplicable connection to her. Perhaps he no longer wanted to. “Is it something from China?”

“Perhaps,” Gold shrugged. “You’ll have to wait and see, I suppose. And anyway, Emma’s going to be here any minute, isn’t she? Why don’t you go make sure all the food is set out, while I scatter these balloons?”

“’Kay papa!” Bae jumped down from the sofa and ran off into the kitchen, leaving Gold to watch on, hoping he hadn’t just made a terrible mistake. At least he hadn’t promised Belle’s attendance. The gift could be procured regardless of her physical presence – he could fetch it from her himself, if needs be – so there was at least no risk of disappointment on that front.

The Nolans arrived only minutes later, and Mila seemed banished entirely from Bae’s mind as Emma proudly placed a large gift on the coffee table, and grinned at him, showing off the gap in her front teeth. “You gotta open mine first,” she insisted. “When you open your presents, mine’s the best.”

“Careful, you don’t know what else he might get,” Mary Margaret chided.

“No,” Emma blinked at her, as if she were speaking Russian. “Mine’s the best.”

“Papa got me _Lego Jurassic Park_ and a PlayStation 4!” Bae told her, excitedly. “Wanna come play two-player?”

“Yeah!”

“Kids,” David Nolan warned, stopping both children in their tracks. “You better make sure Mr Gold doesn’t need any more help setting up the party before you vanish off.”

“Papa, please?” Bae blinked up with transparently manipulative puppy eyes. “I just wanna show Emma how cool my new game is.”

“It’s your birthday,” Gold allowed, with a sigh. “And you were very helpful with the balloons, so I suppose I’ll allow it. But remember, that console goes in the front room first thing tomorrow morning, and you come down here the second the other guests arrive. I’m not having you spend your own party locked away upstairs clicking buttons.”

“Fine,” Bae rolled his eyes, and then grinned and grabbed Emma’s hand, “C’mon!”

They ran upstairs, and Gold was left with David and Mary Margaret, awkwardly setting up the food in the kitchen. “So, you caved and bought him a console,” David said, to break the ice.

“He seemed to believe it essential,” Gold replied. “Especially after marathon games of something called _Spyro_ at your house.”

“We bought her a cheap PlayStation off eBay when we announced my pregnancy, to soften the blow,” Mary Margaret admitted.

“I take it Emma’s not taken the news well, then?”

“She’s… had some teething issues,” David said. “She’s used to being an only child, and you’ve met our daughter. She’s not exactly unused to getting her own way.”

“Any other child, I would believe that a sign of over-indulgence,” Gold admitted. “With Emma I’m not sure how you keep her under control at all. You’ve got an independent young woman on your hands, there.”

Mary Margaret laughed, “She’s… assertive when she wants something. At the moment we’re trying to convince her that Lancelot is not an acceptable name for a baby.”

“Do you have a name in mind?” Gold asked, politely. They were in his home, after all, and while he felt awkward making small talk, it was better than sitting in sullen silence and letting the awkwardness grow. And they were exceedingly nice people, for all they were boringly conventional.

“Well, if it’s a boy, we’re thinking of Leo,” Mary Margaret said, with a hand touched to her belly. “For my father.”

“Ah, yes,” Gold nodded, remembering the former Mayor who had died suddenly almost a decade ago and been succeeded by his deputy, the current Mayor Mills. “That’s a good name,” he said. “Strong.”

“We think so,” Mary Margaret beamed. “And thank you again for your help on the building work. The extension should be finished by Christmas, well in time for the birth. I’m not due until late March so there’s plenty of time to settle in.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gold said, feeling his patience with chatter finally running out. “If you will excuse me, I just need to lock some of the rooms upstairs.”

“Of course, we can let people in if they start to arrive,” Mary Margaret smiled, and Gold inclined his head in thanks.

People did start arriving a few minutes later, and, not long after that the party was in full swing, overseen more by David and Mary Margaret than by Gold himself. The Nolans knew far better than he did how to throw a children’s birthday party, and Gold knew the more of a presence he was the more uncomfortable all the adults would feel. He felt awkward and unhappy enough with this many strangers and tenants tramping through his home, the last thing he needed was to feel their animosity bearing down on him.

He heard Belle’s voice the moment she arrived in the house, hesitant at the door as Mary Margaret let her inside. He was relieved she had decided to come: he had been afraid ever since he’d made the mistake of telling Bae about his present that she’d be a no-show, and add to the wound Mila had left earlier. Gold elected to keep out of sight, watching as Bae greeted her, as she took one bite of cake and then set it down, and as her panicked eyes darted around the room at every moment.

She was uncomfortable: he could see that. She hadn’t stepped foot in this house in five years, since the day she had rejected his proposal. She looked all at once completely right and entirely out of place in his home, and he couldn’t tell if inviting her had been a stroke of genius or a massive mistake.

If she wanted to be in Bae’s life, he reasoned, she could suffer a little discomfort for the sake of coming to his birthday. She could do what his biological mother refused to, and put his happiness before her own, brave this house for Bae’s benefit. And it seemed she had: she was here. She was here, talking to Kathryn Aurum, and Gold wondered how long she would have to stand in his parlour looking as beautiful as the day they had met before he’d summon the strength to approach her.

He saw her excuse herself, and make a break for the staircase. The upstairs was off-limits to guests, he’d put the sign up himself and that was the usual etiquette at children’s parties, as far as he was aware. She could be going for the bathroom, he reasoned, although the downstairs lavatory should be sufficient. His study was private and locked, and Bae’s bedroom couldn’t be of interest, surely, when the boy himself was just in the living room.

He followed her without even thinking about it. He wanted to believe it was because she was intruding on private space. He wanted to plan to throw her out on her ear for imposing her presence where she didn’t belong, for once again pushing his boundaries and making things harder.

But he’d seen the look on her face, uncomfortable and miserable, and seen how she rejected the cake she had been offered. She hadn’t looked like an intruder hell-bent on snooping through his private things; she had looked like a woman on the edge of a breakdown.

The bathroom door slammed when he reached the landing, and he sighed, his suspicions confirmed. He wanted to ask her to leave. He wanted to remind her that Bae was downstairs, and she had said she wanted to be with him.

He wanted to go in and make sure she was all right, to stroke her hair back, to make things better again. It was an old impulse, and ridiculous under the circumstances, but it was strong nonetheless.

He counted to ten to give her a moment to herself, and then slowly pushed open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Belle and Gold make another mistake


	16. No Way Out But Through

Belle made it to the sink before she retched. Nothing came out; her stomach only felt worse. She wasn’t sure when she’d started crying, but she had, and huge wracking sobs now shook her whole body, tears streaming down her cheeks. She ran the water in a futile attempt to cover the noise, splashing water on her face and hoping it would hide the telltale signs when she reappeared downstairs.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” his voice, inevitable, came from behind her. She didn’t turn, but saw him in the mirror, his hands braced on his cane as he watched her from the doorway. She had forgotten to lock the door, apparently, and hadn’t heard him open it.

“I know,” she croaked in response. “But I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“You were… trying to reach out,” Gold supplied, with a defeated sigh, his claws retreating. She nodded. He always did know her better than she knew herself. “An admirable intention, for all the execution needs work. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it, even only for ten minutes.”

“I couldn’t eat the birthday cake,” she confided, in a hoarse whisper.

“Has that… has that been an issue again, of late?” he asked, carefully, taking another step inside. If Belle didn’t know better, she’d take his question for concern. “Your appetite, I mean?”

“I couldn’t eat the birthday cake,” she repeated, shrugging her shoulders. He nodded, taking the tacit confirmation for what it was. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to confuse Bae by raining on his parade. You were… I think you were right, Cam. I don’t belong here anymore.”

Gold regarded her for a moment, their eyes meeting in the mirror. She was surprised to see pain there, sadness, even behind his impassive mask. But then, she had always known him far too well.

“I told Bae you had a gift for him,” Gold ventured, taking another step inside. “He was ecstatic, and even happier when he saw you here. His own mother only deigned a phone call, and that on a dodgy line from Cancun. I believe your presence somewhat soothed him. So… in light of that, if you find it too painful to be in his life, then I would thank you to make that decision now. I believe this is likely the last chance you’ll have to bow out gracefully, without his noticing. He’s a sensitive lad, you know, and used to rejection every day his mother doesn’t call. If you come any closer and then vanish, he will notice when you’re suddenly nowhere to be found.”

“I _abandoned_ him,” she said, through numb lips. His gaze held hers in the mirror: hers horrified and trembling, his steady with understanding. He had known this for years: she was only just catching up. “You were right, Cam. I just walked out of his life and… I never looked back. What sort of _monster_ does that?”

She saw him bow his head, think, keep his mouth closed as he formulated an answer. Belle knew she’d just handed him his victory on a silver platter, all but begging him to twist the knife and finish her off. She was vulnerable, bleeding, and baring her neck. She no longer cared if he chose to sever it.

“You’re not a monster, Belle,” he said instead, stunning her. “I have been… struggling to accept your return, and perhaps not shown grace in the process. We’ve both said things we can’t take back. But you were right, too. I didn’t try to talk or compromise with you after you rejected my proposal. Instead I rushed you into leaving, giving no time to talk or consider, and then blamed you when you ran away and didn’t come back.”

“You were trying to build our family,” Belle said. “I broke that into pieces, and maybe you reacted badly, but it doesn’t excuse what I did. I was just…”

“You were twenty-five,” Gold said. Belle didn’t realise how much she’d missed that tone in his voice – soft, calming, accepting, so warm and kind she could curl up and sleep in it – until she heard it once more. Just when she thought that sweet, loving man long dead and buried, he remerged and knocked her breathless. She turned to face him, eyes meeting his; she leaned into his kindness like a flower to sunlight. “You wanted heroics and adventure and all I could offer you was care of a child that wasn’t your own, and a husband twice your age, trapped forever in the town you’d grown up in, smothering you. It wasn’t your fault we were in such different places, or wanted such different things. And it wasn’t your fault that I reacted as I did. My demons are my own, and I should have known better.”

“It was never about you,” Belle assured him. “Please, if you don’t believe anything else, believe that. I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you, or because I didn’t love Bae. I left because…”

“Because it wasn’t enough,” he finished, evenly. “No need to spare my feelings, Belle. I’ve long made peace with that.”

That was a lie: the last few months of animosity were testament to that. But she appreciated, oh so much, how hard he was trying, even if she couldn’t understand why. Even if she couldn’t fathom why now, at the moment of his victory, he would show her kindness and understanding.

“Well, I haven’t,” she admitted, inhaling hard and attempting to pull herself together. “I never… I never _dealt_ with this. I never processed it or moved on. I just I shoved all those feelings, everything I left behind, into a neat little box in my head where it couldn’t hurt me. But then I travelled the whole world, everywhere I could think of, and it was wonderful, Cam. There was a time where I loved every moment. But I think that, after a while, I was just looking for somewhere that felt half as right as this house always did. I don’t regret the adventure, all the things I’ve seen and done, but I don’t think I knew when to call it a day.”

“You needed a… a home?” he stammered. She nodded.

“Want to call me a vagrant again?” she asked, unsure if she meant it as a joke or a barb. It landed flat either way, her voice wet and sad. He winced.

“I’m sorry for that, Belle,” he said, and she suddenly realised how close he was, how he had been inching nearer, and was now close enough to touch. “I should never have called you that, it was cruel.”

“But accurate,” she countered. “This was my home, once, you know. I guess you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.”

He looked as if he had a response to that, his lips slightly parted, words hanging in the balance. They went unspoken; he closed his mouth and swallowed.

“It doesn’t matter now,” she said, before he could say whatever terrible thing had come to his mind. Her heart clenched in her chest. The recurring vision of that another reality, where she had stayed to talk and he had stopped to listen, winded her. She looked up into his eyes, and she didn’t know what she was pleading for, for respite or forgiveness, for an end or something else entirely. Little by little, it seemed he had crept closer. He was so close now she could almost feel his breath on her cheek.

When his mouth met hers, her whole body soared with relief.

All at once, his hands were in her hair, holding her in place for a desperate kiss, and she grasped at his suit lapels and pulled him closer. He kissed her like he was drowning, like he had missed her, like he _needed_ her. She moaned against his mouth and clung to his shoulders for dear life.

She stepped back and he followed, pushing her up against the sink. Belle hopped up, sitting on the rim so her legs could wrap around his waist, tangling her body with his and soaking his warmth into her skin. She wanted to kiss him until she forgot everything else, every reason she shouldn’t; every second spent doing anything else. What was the use in pretending? This, too, had been her home: kissing him, pushing the jacket from his shoulders, stroking the soft silvery hair at his temples and gasping as he nibbled her lower lip. All of this was as familiar as the table and chairs downstairs, as the stained glass in the front door and her old comfy armchair by the window.

Gold’s mouth slid from hers, dragged over her cheek and to her jaw, plundering every sensitive place he had once so diligently mapped. She shook in his arms, gasping when he bit down and sucked, leaving a mark. Belle dragged his mouth back to hers for an urgent, messy kiss.

The sink made her too high to gain any leverage, so she pushed him back, suddenly flooded with heat at his glazed eyes and mussed hair, his kiss-swollen lips and dazed expression. He was beautiful like this; how had she ever forgotten that? “Your leg,” she panted, concerned. He shook his head.

“I can brace on the sink,” he replied. An odd look, between a smirk and a frown, crossed his features, “Remember?”

Belle thought for a moment, and then snorted through her nose as he raised an eyebrow, smirking as he watched the memory rush back to her. “The night of the Mayor’s re-election,” she said, heat building between her legs at the memory. “In City Hall.”

They’d gone to the event separately, Belle invited because her father had done the flowers and Gold as a prominent businessman. He’d hired an agency sitter for the night so she could attend. He’d been calm and impassive all evening, save for the filthy texts he’d sent to her phone every chance he got. They’d ended up in the bathrooms, Belle’s skirt hitched up around her waist, his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. They’d been incapable of keeping their hands off one another. Six and a half years since that evening, and Belle’s skin still itched with desire for his touch.

He nodded, and the moment stretched long and warm between them, tense and comfortable in a way Belle remembered well. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her cheekbone, his fingertips threading in her hair. She couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand the familiarity and the tenderness, the sense of the world realigned. It couldn’t last; perhaps it shouldn’t last. They’d fallen apart for a reason, but it was so hard to remember that right now.

“Protection,” she blurted, shattering the moment. “Do you have protection? I’m on birth control but I just…”

“It’s good thinking, regardless” he nodded with the look of a man who had just emerged from drowning, blinking and finding his feet. They looked at each other for a long moment, sizing up the situation, seeking confirmation of what was to come next. There was something deliberate, a moment of choosing in seeking protection. This time, no one could argue later that in the heat of the moment mistakes were made, that there’d been no time to stop and think.

She raised her eyebrows, gave a small shrug of assent; he gave a quick nod. The decision made, Gold reached up to the cabinet by Belle’s head, while Belle took the opportunity without his body pressed to hers to kick off her heels and pull down her tights. He retrieved a condom, and put it on the counter behind her. She didn’t want to ask why he had them, if he hadn’t dated anyone since she left. She’d given up all right to jealousy long ago. But still, if he’d lied before she wanted to know. That had always been their failure, hadn’t it: their mutual unwillingness to ask the hard questions? Better late than never.

“Why do you have those?”

“Optimism, I suppose,” he shrugged, with a crooked smile. “There was almost someone about a year ago. I wanted to be prepared.”

“You said you hadn’t seen anyone since…” Belle trailed off at the funny look in his eyes. “Since me,” she finished, lamely. It wasn’t as if she could say the same, after all, and suddenly opening this Pandora’s box seemed like the worst idea.

“Jealous, sweetheart?” he asked, and she shivered at the endearment that had slipped past his lips, her heart skipping a beat as he didn’t correct himself. She shook her head.

“Just trying to catch up,” she said. “I don’t want to be in the way of anything.”

“She didn’t like Bae,” Gold shrugged, “I didn’t mention it before because I only saw her twice. She’s not an issue.”

“Anyone who doesn’t like Bae doesn’t deserve to be within fifty feet of him,” Belle said, and they shared a smile, united in that at least. It felt good to be on the same side with him, even on just one issue. It never felt right to see him as an adversary.

“How about you?” he asked, after a moment. “Is there-“

“No,” she cut him off, shaking her head. “No one else. There… hasn’t ever been anyone else, really. Not in any way that would matter, at least.”

“Scrappy didn’t become a fixture, then?” he asked. She rolled her eyes.

“I told you, he’s married with kids.”

“Anyone else I should know about?”

She sighed, but he had indulged her petty jealousies so she supposed she owed him the same courtesy. “A handful of stupid drunken one night stands, none of them worth a repeat,” she said, eyeing his face for judgement and – oddly – finding very little. “Honestly, I only really dated one other time, and that was only for a few months.” She shuddered at the memory of George Gaston and his hunting rifle, and caught the smirk tugging at Gold’s mouth.

“Not a keeper, then?” he teased. She shook her head.

“He hunted for sport, and spent more time in the bathroom than I did,” she said, and couldn’t help smiling at his low chuckle. “He also seemed to think that we were somehow going to end up married after dating for three months. I know I went in looking for a relationship but… honestly, how was I supposed to give my heart so someone so superficial? He would tear the book out of my hands when he wanted my attention, and just… toss it aside.”

Gold’s jaw dropped in a parody of shock, and he pressed a hand to his chest. “High treason indeed,” he murmured. “I’m shocked he lasted three months.” She was surprised at the soft laughter that escaped her, nodding.

“He was really angry when we broke up; I suppose that put me off dating.”

“So you’re unattached?” he asked, his smile doing dangerous things to her. She nodded.

“Completely,” she lied. She knew as she said it that she was very much attached to the man stood in front of her, however much trouble it brought in its wake, however impossible any future with him felt. There was too much history, too much pain and baggage to consider ever picking up where they’d left off. There was too much between them for her to walk away. She found herself caught in the middle, his hands on her hips and her legs around his waist, trying desperately to know where to draw the line in the sand between together and apart.

“Good,” he smiled, and she nodded again. He pushed her hair back behind her ear, and Belle was caught up in that gentle, heated smile she recognised all too well. His gaze was so deep and dark she could drown in it. His eyes had always been a problem for her.

Belle closed her eyes and kissed him deeply, needing release from his gaze. Her hands went blindly to his belt as he coaxed her hips up and her thighs around his waist. He pushed up against her, and the sudden pressure and friction against her core made her moan. One of Gold’s hands was on her hip, holding her up against him; the other had strayed under her skirt, and stroked gently against her knickers, teasing her until she gasped and tore her mouth from his.

“Please,” she breathed, “please, please…”

“Yes,” he agreed, “yes.” Permission granted, he pushed her underwear aside, and she hissed at the first electric touch of his fingers to her folds. She was already wet: he knew how to play her body like an instrument, he always had, and he apparently had lost nothing of that knowledge over five years of absence. He stroked his fingers over her, plucking at her clit and dipping his thumb to tease her entrance, working her gently into a panting, desperate mess.

Belle tore her fingers into his hair and scratched at his scalp. His gentleness was driving her insane, and it was so much harder to remember all that distance and pain between them when she felt like she had come home. She needed his anger, his ferocity, his snapping teeth and claws. She needed to remember that things were different now, and that they couldn’t go back to the way things were.

“Hurry up and fuck me, Cam,” she snarled, the profanity tearing him out of whatever nostalgia had overtaken him. She bit down on his lower lip to punctuate her words. She saw his eyes flash, and felt his hand on her hip tighten and his nails bite into her skin. He wiped his wet fingers on her thigh, and deftly finished her work on his belt, drawing himself out. He worked the condom down his length, and then looked up, his eyes meeting hers.

He looked like he was about to say something – to ask if she was sure, perhaps, or tell her this was a bad idea. She couldn’t bear it. She covered his mouth with hers again, and replaced his hand on his cock with her own, lining them up between her legs and shifting forward. He bucked his hips and thrust home, and Belle threw back her head with a sigh of pleasure. Gold’s lips and teeth found her throat again, kissing and biting his way across her exposed collarbones.

Between them they set up a slow, deep, hard pace. Belle rocked down against him as Gold thrust up, and the angle was awkward and Belle knew she’d have bruises, but she couldn’t think of stopping. She shuddered in pleasure every time his cock thrust home, and Gold’s fingers went back to work between her legs, teasing her clit in little circles, pinching at odd intervals to make her jump and yelp. He covered her mouth with his to smother her little noises; their kiss was haphazard, messy, punctuated by gasps and groans.

Belle rocked ever more urgently against him, pleasure shooting up from where they were joined. She was surrounded by him, trapped between the sink and his body, smothered and contained and for a moment, a single blinding moment, she never wanted to be anywhere else.

Her orgasm came out of nowhere, shuddering through her and making her moan against his neck. Gold finished only a few short, jerky thrusts later, releasing a low groan that he muffled against her shoulder.

For a moment they just stood there, his arm still tight around her waist, his cock softening inside her, her hands limp over his shoulders. Belle was dazed, and it was too easy to pretend that this was a good thing. His arms around her still made her feel safer and warmer than anywhere else in the world.

“Cam-“ she started, as the pulled back, forced herself to surface into reality. He cut her off with a sharp look.

“If you leave now,” he said, softly, “then I don’t think you can come back.”

She swallowed hard, processing the warning, cold reality crashing in around her. Suddenly, she felt exhausted. “Is this where we have another fight about possessiveness?” she asked, warily, as he stepped back and slid out of her.

She slipped off the counter, and pulled on her knickers and tights as he disposed of the condom in the waste bin. As the euphoria cleared and her old anxiety kicked in, the bathroom was suddenly far too cold, the tiles chill against her feet. Belle wanted to run, as fast as her feet would carry her. He arrested her escape with a look. She was still trapped between him and the sink, the door behind him. No more running, she thought stubbornly. For once she would show the bravery she’d always aspired to. For once she would hear him out.

“No,” he said. “I’m not claiming that you’re somehow mine now, or ordering that you have to stay. I’m not even speaking on my own behalf. I’m saying we can’t keep doing this. Once is a bad decision… twice is starting to look like bad habits.”

“Are you saying… you regret this?” she asked, frowning, her throat clogging. He shook his head, holding up a hand to stop her in her tracks.

“No, no,” he shook his head. “No, I mean if we _end_ it the way it ended last time. With… with harsh words, and you storming out, that’s a bad pattern. We can’t keep doing that. We need to find a way to coexist, with or without the…”

“Mind-blowing sex?” she supplied, managing a smile. Gold swallowed, and nodded.

“Indeed.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, although her throat was dry, unwanted tears welling up inside, threatening to burst. She swallowed, hard: this was difficult, this was messy, but it was better than the cold, simple distance that had preceded it. She didn’t want to feel like a stranger anymore, that much she knew. She couldn’t keep straddling the divide anymore between Storybrooke and the rest of the word. She had to ground herself somewhere. She had to decide what she wanted before her indecision caused any more damage. “I… I don’t think I can go back down there,” she admitted, at last. “Not right now.”

“You wanted to show Bae the gift you gave him,” he reminded her. “It’ll only confuse him if you leave him to find it alone. He deserves to hear everything from you, if he is to hear any of it.”

“I’ll come back,” she assured him, thinking it through. Whatever there was between her and Cam, whatever feelings remained, however much of it was strong and enduring enough to build something and however much was just a hangover from who they’d been before, Bae was worth the effort. She wanted Bae in her life, and Cam was being brave: he was offering her a way in. “God,” she murmured, trying to smile and failing. “Wasn’t there a time when I was the brave one?”

“Do you know how afraid I am right now?” Gold asked, with a sardonic little smile. “This is uncharted territory, Belle. I’m terrified. I’d say we’re evenly matched at present.”

“I can be brave, for him,” she nodded, resolute. “I’ll slip out the back, and I’ll come back tomorrow evening and show him his present then, without all these people around. Could you… stash it somewhere until tomorrow?”

He smiled, a sad, half-smile, “I’m sure I can. But wasn’t there a time when you enjoyed big parties?” he asked. “I imagined you off out there relishing huge rooms of new people and loud music.”

“I still do,” she said, “Usually I’d love to meet everyone and play games and eat cake. I don’t know what’s happened to me, I… I don’t remember the last time I felt like myself. Isn’t that strange?”

“All things considered, Belle, that’s the least strange thing you’ve said to me since you came back to town.”

She laughed at that, however small the sound was. Then she straightened her spine, and slid her feet back into her heels. “Tomorrow, then,” she said. “I’ll come by around seven? I can show Bae his gifts and then we can talk. I could even bring hamburgers from Granny’s for dinner.”

It took everything she had to voice those hesitant final words, and she saw him stiffen, his eyes widening a little. The thought of planning to talk this through, of creating either an ending or a new beginning, order from their current chaos, terrified her. She could see it scared him, too, now he had admitted his fear. It was a little comforting, in its way: they were somehow in this together. There was no way out of this hurricane but through it, and she only hoped that things would eventually be easier on the other side. Perhaps they could even find one another again, through the rain and the wind. It was a hopeless thought, fleeting and helpless, but still it stuck.

He nodded, “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: preparations are made for Gold and Belle's dinner


	17. Best Friends

The party wound down around five pm, and Bae waved everyone off before returning to the pile of now-unwrapped gifts in the middle of the living room.

He already had gifts that Gold had given him that morning over breakfast. The beaming grin on his face when he’d unwrapped the console and the endless babble of excitement and gratitude that had followed through breakfast (an unprecedented treat: chocolate-chip pancakes, recipe courtesy of Mary Margaret) and until Bae left for school was already one of Gold’s fondest memories.

“Good haul, then, son?” he asked, as Bae started counting his gifts. Bae nodded happily. “What’s your favourite?”

Bae grinned and lifted the high quality wooden sword and shield that Emma Nolan had given him, “She says her dad gave her the same thing, so can play knights and dragons!”

“In your kneepads and helmet, yes?” Gold checked. “If you manage to hurt yourself those go in the cupboard.”

“Papa,” Bae whined, looking a little deflated. Gold didn’t care: the thought of his son injured in any way was enough to more than resist his pleading. “Dragons don’t need kneepads!”

“Dragons have scales and knights often end up fatally wounded,” Gold countered. “You’re wearing full protection or you’re not doing it, just like we agreed with your bike.”

“Fiiiiine,” Bae sighed, but the size of his heap of new toys was enough to bring back his smile. “Papa?”

“Yes, Bae?”

“I wish I had more to open. It’s over now, isn’t it?”

“Well…” Gold thought for a moment, and then nodded, the decision made. If Belle was coming back tomorrow, then Bae needed to be prepared. The last thing he was going to do was lie to his son. “There is one more thing.”

“Another present?” Bae sat up excitedly, “Really?”

“Well, I promised a gift from Miss Belle, didn’t I? Did you notice it wasn’t on the pile?”

“I guess,” Bae’s lower lip caught between his teeth, thinking. “How come?”

“Bae you… you like Miss Belle, don’t you?”

“Of course, papa,” Bae frowned, confused. “Why? Don’t you?”

That was a loaded question. Gold’s feelings about Belle French made advanced calculus look like Bae’s math homework. ‘Like’ didn’t cover it, he didn’t want to think about anything past that, but he knew the flimsy feelings behind words like ‘hate’ and ‘disdain’ had crumbled away long ago. “I know Miss Belle very well,” he said, eventually. “She spent a lot of time here when you were little.”

“Before she went to China?” Bae asked. Gold nodded.

“Yes, before she went to China, and a lot of other places. Would you like to be able to ask her about those things, Bae?”

“Yes!” Bae nodded. “Miss Belle knows _everything_!”

Gold had to laugh at that, wondering what Belle would say to such an accolade. “Perhaps not quite _everything_ , but she has been to a great many places. She might be coming over for dinner tomorrow, if that would be okay with you? She’ll bring her gift with her then, if not I can always get it from her later.”

“Really?” Bae looked ecstatic, ready to explode. “Miss Belle’s coming back? Can I ask her about China then?” he demanded, and Gold nodded.

“You can ask her anything you want. But she says she might be busy, so if she doesn’t come over we’ll rent any movie you like and have pizza, okay?”

“’Kay, papa,” Bae beamed. Gold rose to his feet, his duty done, and ruffled his son’s hair. “Now, are you going to make a start on tidying this stuff up?” he asked. Bae nodded.

“Papa?” he said, as Gold made for the kitchen to find a bag for the endless pieces of wrapping paper littering the floor. He stopped and turned back to his son.

“Yes, Bae?”

“Are you… are you gonna _date_ Miss Belle?” he asked. “Like that Cora lady?”

“How did you know about that?” Gold asked, frowning: he’d made sure never to mention Cora to Bae in the few weeks they’d seen one another, and Bae had only met her once, in a neutral setting, when she had been so cold to him that Gold had immediately cut her out.

“I heard Mr and Mrs Nolan talking,” Bae admitted, sinking back on his heels and chewing his lip with worry at his father’s expression. Gold schooled his face into something resembling casual interest, trying not to impart any of the hundred feelings inspired by that simple question. “I didn’t like her,” Bae added, “I like Miss Belle a lot more.”

“I didn’t like Cora much either, to tell the truth,” Gold admitted. “I… how would you feel about that, Bae?” he asked, at last. Bae thought about it.

“I like Miss Belle a lot,” Bae said. “But you always seem angry when she’s around. I don’t think _you_ like her very much.”

Gold sighed. He couldn’t decide whether eight was too young to know all of that history. “Bae… how would you feel if Emma had to move a long way away, and never called you or saw you again?”

Bae’s face crumpled in horror, “Emma’s moving?!”

“No, no!” Gold smiled and held up his hands, trying to soothe him. He’d known this was a mistake, but he was in too deep now. He eased himself back down onto the sofa, and patted the space beside him, opening his arm so Bae could sit down and curl in next to him. “No, Emma’s staying here. But you know how Emma’s your best friend?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, Belle was my best friend when you were a baby. And she moved a long way away, and I never thought I would see her again. I suppose I’ve been angry because I was very sad when she was gone.”

“Oh,” Bae frowned. “But if she’s back now, why aren’t you happy?”

“I don’t want her to leave again,” Gold admitted, hoping to God he wasn’t traumatising his son, that this wouldn’t be a mark Bae carried things went pear-shaped again. Bae would not be swept up in their emotional thunderstorm; he wouldn’t allow it. “Does that make sense?”

Bae worried his lower lip, and for a terrible moment Gold felt the ghost of Mila’s absence pass over them. “Did she like me?” Bae asked, then. “When I was a baby?”

“Yes,” Gold sighed, hugging him close. “Of course she did, Bae. And she likes you even more now. That’s why she’s coming to dinner tomorrow. She has that present for you remember? She says she missed you a lot.”

“If Miss Belle comes to dinner, then will you be friends again?” Bae asked. “Once Emma and I had a big fight but then her mom gave us pizza and I let Emma have the piece with the most pepperoni, and we were friends again.”

“Pepperoni does have magical powers like that,” Gold smiled dotingly down at his son’s little face. “Now, how about tidying up, hm? Someone’s going to trip on this lot soon enough.”

Bae made a face, but dutifully began picking up his toys, sorting them into the chest by the door and a pile to take up to his room.

“Papa?” Bae asked a while later, when they had taken the little stack of books and stuffed animals to his room, and were headed back down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Yes, Bae?”

“I would be ok with you dating Miss Belle,” he said, his little chest puffed up with importance, his face solemn. “If that made you happy.”

“Thank you, Bae,” Gold smiled, then winked. “You know, I would be okay with you dating Emma, too.”

“Ew!” Bae’s face scrunched up, and he jumped down the last three steps and turned to glare at his father. “Dad that’s gross!”

Gold just laughed.

\---

_Dinner was finished, Bae tucked safe and sound asleep upstairs, and yet Belle was still standing there in the living room. She fiddled awkwardly with the hem of her skirt, unsure of her footing but not leaving. Gold fidgeted with his cane. They’d only been dating for two weeks: they had not yet established post-dinner protocol. He didn’t expect them to end up having sex on the dining room table every time, after all, but he honestly wasn’t sure what to do if not that._

_The sex was wonderful, but he’d also found himself dreaming of softer, more domestic things with her: holding her while she read a book, talking by the fire, long walks in the woods, that sort of thing. Gold had never been a romantic, but damn if Belle didn’t make him want to learn._

_“I ah,” he tried to do the decent thing, to let her decide. “I don’t expect you to stay if you… if you want to go home.”_

_“Do you want me to go home?” Belle asked, her head jerking up, and he immediately held up a hand to assure her._

_“No! No of course not I’d…” he shook his head. “Honestly, I never want you to leave.”_

_She blushed, and he watched with fascination as her cheeks bloomed. “Do you… want to watch a movie, then?” she asked, tentatively. He sighed with relief._

_“Sure.” Belle grinned and went to the cabinet, seeking out a DVD._

_“Any preference?” she asked. He shook his head, taking a seat on the couch. Just having her here, by choice in an explicitly romantic context, happily perusing his shelves was more than enough for his brain to handle. The fact she had to stretch on tiptoe to reach the shelves, her dress riding up the backs of her thighs and giving him all sorts of ideas, didn’t help._

_“How about something I haven’t stuck on for Bae?” she teased. “I don’t know about you but even Shaun the Sheep is losing his appeal.”_

_“I have to admit, most of my collection is Bae-oriented,” Gold admitted._

_“Oh,” Belle frowned, but didn’t question it. That the bulk of Gold’s once-passible DVD collection had ended up in boxes in the back of Mila’s car was not a memory he cherished. The kids’ movies he’d bought since then had mostly been on Belle’s recommendation or Amazon.com’s. Bright lights, shapes, and peppy music entertained Bae well enough, and the quiet earned while he watched was enough for Gold. “Ah-ha!” Belle cried, apparently having discovered something Mila had missed. “_ Some Like It Hot _,” she grinned, turning and brandishing the box at him._

_Gold did smile then, caught up in her enthusiasm. “Ah yes,” he murmured. “One of the few non-animated features I possess.”_

_“Should have taken you for a classic movie fan,” Belle teased, kneeling to insert the disk into the player. Gold knew himself for a fool at the warmth that bloomed in his chest at how expertly she worked his television and DVD player, how well she knew his home and how well she already fit into it. It was ridiculous: she’d only begun babysitting Bae all of two months ago, and yet he was already thinking of her as part of the family._

_Here he was, thinking of her as a perfect fit, the only person outside of Bae who he wanted to come home to of an evening. He craved her company like a physical thing: her bright conversation, her smiles; her laughter at his dark, sardonic attempts at humour that only she seemed to find amusing. The intense connection he felt to her terrified him and sent him flying._

_“Anything before the age of gratuitous explosions and CGI is better for it, in my book,” he groused, good-naturedly. “And I can’t tell any of today’s starlets apart.”_

_“I bet you also have a store of old war documentaries,” she snickered. “The entire_ World at War _collection hidden away behind the Disney movies.”_

_Gold blinked at her, momentarily caught on the detail, “They’ve released them on DVD now?”_

_Belle gave a soft little snort and rolled her eyes, settling herself beside him and cuddling up against his arm. "I swear, every guy over forty is obsessed with Vietnam or World War Two."_

_"Miss French, are you calling me old?" he teased, trying to cover the small wound with a smile. She blinked up at him; he didn't think she bought it._

_"I was just commenting on the shared interest, that's all," she soothed. "You know I don't think of your age as an issue."_

_"Hmm," he murmured, non-committal, and sat back on the sofa. Belle sighed, and he knew he was being ridiculous. He knew she wasn't put off by their age gap: if she had been, it would have been obvious by now. And yet, the self-consciousness remained. He swallowed it down, and tried to look past it to what she'd actually said. "I think it's about upbringing," he said, at last._

_"Oh?" Her eyes lit with interest, and he could feel her apology, her eagerness to return to the comfort of before. He hated that his instant self-loathing had broken it, and felt the same urgency to repair it._

_"Growing up where I did in Glasgow in the 1960s, rationing wasn't all that far behind us," he explained. "And they hadn't repaired the slums as quickly as they had the wealthy areas. The war had been over twenty-five years ago, but it still felt recent. I think maybe there's a built-in fascination."_ _He stopped himself there, before he could ruin her happiness completely with dismal talk of his draft-dodging father, and how their little community had never let Malcolm Gold's quiet son forget it._

_Belle nodded, and he could see her turning the information over in her bright mind. "I get that," she said, nodding. "And it's partly disdain for the modern world and all its trappings, right?"_

_"Oh, of course," he snorted, grinning. "Honestly I'm still only just adjusting to this wheel nonsense they've been yammering on about."_

_She giggled and snuggled back against him, the tension shattered and comfort restored. He wasn’t sure his stupid joke deserved her laughter, but he wasn’t going to stop her. Gold had to close his eyes for a moment and just adjust to the warmth of her there, the ease with which she’d seated herself, and how right it felt to just sit here with her, curled up on the sofa together, the most natural thing in the world._

_“Belle?” he asked, a little while later. She looked up from the movie and smiled at him._

_“Mm-hmm?”_

_“I’d understand if… if you didn’t want to do this every night,” he said. She frowned._

_“Why, because your DVD collection is terrible? I have plenty I can bring over, don’t worry.”_

_“No I… I monopolise your days when you care for Bae. I don’t want to take up your evenings too, I’m sure you have friends and family you want to see.”_

_“_ You’re _my friend, Cam,” she said. “My dad and I get on better in different rooms and Ruby’s always got a date, and even if that weren’t true…_ you’re _who I want to spend time with.”_

_“Is that what we are then?” he asked, swallowing around a dry throat. “Friends?”_

_“Are you trying to ruin the mood here?” she teased, shaking her head. “You’re probably the smartest man I’ve ever met and yet you’re also frequently an idiot.”_

_She leaned up and kissed him, a slow, gentle, tender kiss that left him longing for more. Belle pulled back after a too-short second, and smiled with hooded eyes. “You’re my friend,” she told him, “because friends are supportive and kind and caring, and you’re all of those things. You make me laugh, you understand me, you can fight me on any intellectual point I can think of and love it as much as I do. But you’re also the devastatingly handsome man who makes my knees go weak and gives me earth-shattering orgasms.” She winked at that, and he swallowed hard and felt himself blush like a schoolboy. He had no idea what it was about her that reduced him to such a ridiculous mess, but he hoped she’d never stop. “I hope we’re exclusive,” she continued, her voice a little softer, losing her bravado. “But… well ‘boyfriend’ seems a little juvenile, doesn’t it? When we’re basically co-parenting a child?”_

_“What other word is there?” he asked, trying to think through the haze she created in his mind. Somewhere between ‘earth shattering orgasms’ and ‘exclusive’ and ‘co-parenting’ she’d ruined all chance for rational thought._

_“Lovers?” she suggested. “It’s not perfect but I don’t think we’ve been together long enough to be ‘partners’ and that always sounds a little sterile.”_

_“Lovers… sounds good,” he nodded, looking down at her with sickening adoration: Belle French, his lover. Maybe one day he’d have the courage to tell her how apt the title was. How deeply he did love her, already even after having known her only scant months, and only weeks of that as an item. How could he not love her, when she was so bright and so beautiful, so good and so kind?_

_“Good,” she smiled, and kissed him again, before turning back to the movie with a satisfied little noise._

_“Belle?” he said again, a moment later._

_“Yes, Cam?”_

_“You’re… you’re also my best friend,” he said, feeling juvenile as he said it, the term even more childish than ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’. Still, it was the best term he could find for how he’d been feeling since he’d come to know her. Like they could eat dinner and watch a movie and talk and he wouldn’t need anything else if he only had her company. “All else aside. Even if we weren’t… lovers, that would be true.”_

_He wasn’t a man who had friends, as a rule, and Belle knew that. She was already the closest friend he’d ever had._

_She looked up, a little startled, and he was surprised to find she had tears in her eyes. For all the terminology seemed inadequate, he could see she understood what he meant, and how much more significant it felt than any codification of their sexual relationship. She kissed him again, and this time she took the time to pause the movie so they could kiss for a long time, long enough for her to end up in his lap, cuddled as close as she could be, his arms around her like he’d never let go. If Gold had his way, he thought, he never would._

\---

It was becoming a habit: surprising her at the library, often unaware of his own destination until he was walking through the doors. At least this time, when she looked up at the sound of his soft cough, she didn’t look unhappy to see him.

“Ca- Mr Gold,” she corrected herself, and it was with some small relief that he realised she too was finding it hard to remember where they stood these days. It had all seemed so very easy, once upon a time. “Is everything alright? I thought I wasn’t coming by until later, shouldn’t you be with Bae on a Saturday?”

“He spends Saturday mornings at the Nolans, while I run the shop’s half-day,” Gold explained, brushing her worry aside. “That’s what I came to talk to you about, as a matter of fact,” he said, trying to work out how to broach the topic sensitively. He didn’t want to upset her again, not after they seemed to be regaining some common ground, getting back to a happier place between them. He had even briefly conceded, in the face of Bae’s innocent questioning, the possibility that simple platonic coexistence may not be his preferred outcome when it came to her. It was too easy, these days when she was trying and he could so clearly see her behind the walls she had erected in her absence, to imagine such a future possible. Even easier to glimpse that future and realise he’d never really stopped wanting it.

“Oh?” she frowned, and he saw her hackles rise. “You’re not letting me come round, are you? You changed your mind.”

“Quite the contrary, I assure you,” he sighed, and braced himself on his cane, thankful for the barrier it and her desk made. “I told Bae you were coming over, is all. I came to ensure you were still planning to come.”

“Of course I am,” she said, her whole body sagging with relief, but her voice soft with disappointment. “You really do expect the worst these days, don’t you?”

“As do you,” he noted. “Your first assumption was that I was revoking your invitation.”

She looked as if she had a retort, but then, miraculously, she stopped herself and shook her head with a rueful smile. “That’s fair, I suppose. Yes, I am still intending to come by at seven, burgers and all. I promise that should anything unexpected come up to prevent me I will call ahead to explain. I’m in this now, for better or worse.”

“Thank you,” he tried to smile back.

“How much does he know about us?” Belle asked. “I mean, I know you told him I babysat him, but is that it?”

“That was the other matter I needed to discuss,” he explained, stepping a little closer. “Bae asked a number of questions about your visit this evening, and I perhaps fudged the truth a little in my explanation.”

“You? Fudged the truth?” she rolled her eyes, “Perish the thought!”

He winced at the little lights in her eyes, merry and teasing. She wouldn’t be making such jokes, he thought, if she knew that the lucrative offer on her home was his, under a hidden name. If she was still in town in a month, he thought, he’d withdraw the offer and let her make her own decisions. As soon as he knew she was staying for good. As soon as he knew for sure that she wouldn’t take the offered escape hatch. He’d done it before, after all, used that property and its value to force her to jump. She’d left, the first time, when her father was forced to pay her expenses and remove her constraints. He hoped against hope she wouldn’t make the same choice twice.

What would she do if she knew about that, about the paper trail that sat demurely in his office, detailing his every treason?

“Gold?” she pressed, apparently having settled on a compromise of her two names for him. “What did you say to him?”

“Only that we were close, before you left,” he said. “I believe the words I used were ‘best friends’, in order to draw a comparison to little Emma. Just so you know you don’t need to keep up a pretence.”

There was a sad little smile on her face at his words, and he knew she was remembering the same thing he was. The only other time he’d used that term for her, back when he had meant it.

She’d never said the same to him, but then Belle was luminous where he was dark and dank. People were drawn to her like moths to flame, and if a few wretched little bugs like him got burned on impact, then that was hardly the flame’s fault, now was it? Belle had always had many friends, and when she’d left she’d clearly made plenty more. Gold only had Bae, but he couldn’t blame Belle for that.

“We’ll talk about all of that tonight, right?” she said. “When I come by? We’ll talk about everything.”

“Yes,” he agreed, a knot of dread forming in his gut. “We will. Once Bae is in bed we can talk everything through.”

“Good,” she smiled, a real smile, encouraging. “Because I have missed you, you know. You were my best friend too.”

“You needn’t spare my feelings,” Gold said, almost immediately. “You were always closest to the girl from the dinner, Miss Lucas. And of course there was Scrappy…”

“Why can’t you just believe me?” Belle asked, narrowing her eyes. “It has to be a fight or a lie with you. I know I hurt you when I left but it was one bad set of decisions after a year and a half of really, truly good things. Wasn’t I a good friend to you then, if nothing else?”

He swallowed hard, chastened, and nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Everything until the end was… you were good to us.” He could swear he could see tears in her eyes, and felt the need to push his luck, to wring just a little more honesty from them both before they retreated again. “Was I good to you, too? Before everything went to hell?”

“Yes.” She wiped her eyes and smiled, breathing deep. “Yes, you were the best thing that had ever happened to me. I think that’s why it hurt as deeply as it did. If I hadn’t loved you so much, maybe I wouldn’t have run as fast. We had a charmed life back then, Cam, then the moment something came between us, we went from seeing only the very best in one another to the very worst. Maybe that’s where we have to start now: acknowledging both and expecting neither.”

“Maybe,” he agreed.

“We can discuss it later, I suppose. I’ll be by at seven with the burgers, we can eat and I can show Bae his gifts, and then we can talk.”

“It’s a date,” Gold said, automatically, and then jumped as he realised what he’d said. Belle looked panicked, and who could blame her: Gold felt much the same. “Poor choice of words,” he said, wryly. “See you at seven, Belle.”

“I’ll see you then,” she agreed, and he felt her eyes on her as he left before he could say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Gold, Belle and Bae share hamburgers, and Belle shares her tale


	18. Memories Of Another Life

“Hey Granny,” Belle came into the diner at half past six dressed up in her favourite blue dress and heels, her hair curled and her make up freshly applied. “Can I get an order to go?”

The older woman’s eyes narrowed as she raked over Belle’s appearance, “Sure thing, but you gotta tell me where you’re taking it.”

“I have some cataloguing to do,” Belle lied, her excuse only just invented in the shower. “A friend of mine from school says she’ll help out so I said I’d bring dinner.”

“Which friend?” Granny asked, immediately. 

“Ashley Boyd,” Belle replied, the first name that came into her head. Honestly, she’d been too busy going over everything she did and didn’t want to say to Gold tonight to put too much thought into her lie. She’d hoped the diner would be busier on a Saturday night, but apparently not busy enough to distract Granny.

“Ashley Boyd is eight months pregnant, she’s not lifting anything or eating red meat,” Granny replied. “Try again.”

Belle’s face flushed, “I’m thirty years old,” she muttered, hoping Granny wouldn’t mention how she didn’t pay rent to live in her inn, or for food in the diner. “Can I just order, please?”

Granny shrugged, “Sure, what’ll it be?”

“Three cheeseburgers, one with extra pickle, one with none, and the third with extra relish,” she said. “Oh and three fries, two iced teas, and a Coca-Cola.”

Granny looked up at her, an odd expression on her face, “That’s Gold’s order plus your own,” she said, steadily, and Belle gulped: busted.

“Yeah I know…” Belle shifted in place as Granny looked again at her pretty dress, her curled hair and fresh make-up, and considered the time of day. Saturday night, and Belle was collecting dinner for three. It didn’t look good.

“You owe him money, honey?” Granny asked, quieter, concern etched into every line of her face. For a moment – just a brief, foolish moment – Belle felt an old surge of annoyance: as if the only reason anyone would choose to visit Gold was if he held a debt over their head! She thought back to the day before, the house full of people, every kid in Bae’s class running through the hallways. Sure, they’d been rubbernecking at his house, and she doubted he counted many of them as his friends, but they clearly didn’t fear him enough to ban their children from visiting his son.

Things were changing, but then Granny had always been of a conservative frame of mind. And it wasn’t as if Gold had ever done anything for her to change her mind.

“No,” she said. “I just… I need to go over some paperwork, about the house. I figured he’d be kinder about it if I brought food, and Bae’s sweet so I didn’t want to leave him out.”

Granny raised an eyebrow, but nodded, accepting the lie. “Alright then, but I don’t want you going thinking you can act like my Ruby and flirt your way through town.”

“Granny!” Belle scolded. Granny just shrugged.

“I just know what I know, is all. Pretty girl like you, nice dress, Saturday night… just make sure that bastard doesn’t get the wrong impression.”

“Burgers!” Belle laughed a little nervously, fiddling with her hair. “And I said I’d be there around seven!”

Granny nodded, her lips pressed into a fine line. Belle pulled a book out of her handbag and read at the counter, stalwartly avoiding Granny’s eyes as she waited for her order to be ready. 

She tried to remember that it didn’t matter what Granny suspected: she was going round to give Bae his gifts, have some quality time with the child she cared so much for, and to talk things through with her thoroughly ex-lover. She wouldn’t be out late enough to worry anyone, and she hoped to come home having negotiated a lasting emotional peace between them. 

That her thoughts traitorously led her back to that bathroom encounter with his mouth on her skin, his kisses swelling her lips as he pounded into her… well, she was a human woman with needs, and it had been a while. The explanation fell flat even in her own head, but she clung to it with both hands. To admit anything else – to admit to everything she’d felt with him wrapped around her in that house, to all the useless, helpless desires he awoke in her that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with family and home and an altogether quieter existence – would be to open herself up to a world of pain she didn’t have the strength to stomach.

He wouldn’t want her, anyway, even if she did decide that she wanted him. Reunion sex with a former lover and desiring a true reconciliation were two very different things, and he’d made his feelings clear. But then again, so had she. If there was one thing she was rapidly learning, it was that it was entirely possible to feel a hundred different things all at once, and for every one of them to change on a dime. She wondered if Gold was finding the same. The thought was somewhat comforting.

“Here you go,” Granny announced, setting the bags of food down in front of Belle with stern eyes. “I still don’t like this.”

“I know,” Belle said. Granny had been so very good to her, better than Belle ever deserved, and Belle knew her suspicion came from concern. She had hardly been exhibiting the best decision-making or emotional stability of late, after all. “Please just trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

It was another lie, but Granny’s eyes softened, and she nodded. “I’m sure you do,” she said. “It’s just that sometimes I feel like I have two granddaughters to worry about, and I’d hate to see you get yourself into trouble.”

Belle’s eyes teared up a little at that, and she came around the end of the counter, hugging Granny tight. “Thank you,” she said, her voice muffled in the older woman’s shoulder. Granny just hugged her tighter. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow, okay?” Belle promised. “I just need to work some things out first.”

Granny pushed her to arms’ length, and regarded her closely. Belle couldn’t imagine what she would say when she learned the truth, but she couldn’t bear to lie to Granny much longer. As soon as things were settled, she would come clean to everyone. If she was hoping for openness and honesty with Gold, she could hardly give less to everyone else, to people kinder and more open with her than he was these days. 

“Alright then,” Granny said, finally. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Belle nodded, and was finally released from Granny’s firm grip.

“Have a good night,” Belle smiled as she left, clutching the bags of food. Granny nodded sternly, and turned back to her customers. Belle felt a knot form in her stomach as she left the warm, cheerful safety of the diner, and began her walk across town to Gold’s palatial home. She shivered in the frosty air, and felt the first flecks of snow begin to fall as she reached Gold’s street. It was cold enough to stick; there could be a good inch or two by morning. 

The lights were on when she arrived, and she saw a small head in the window, watching for her. The golden light behind Bae made his wild hair stick out like an unkempt halo, and she felt the lump in her stomach form a twin in her throat. For just a second, she remembered the dreams she’d had about such moments: coming in from work at the library or the flower shop, finding Bae at just this age waiting for her, Cam already having started dinner in the kitchen. It felt so normal, standing here at the gate, just far enough that the light from the house wouldn’t reach her, that Bae couldn’t see her. It felt natural to come back to this house of an evening, with this child waiting for her. In that moment the past five years felt like a dream, a memory of another life.

It had been just that vision that had spooked her so thoroughly five years ago: that she could want it; that she could have given up everything for it. Caught between an odd mix of regret and absolution, homecoming and homesickness, Belle caught her breath on the icy air for just a moment. 

She swallowed hard, and shook her head: such thinking would not help when Gold opened the door, and she was hit with the reminder of how different everything was. It didn’t matter how she felt now, or how she felt then, for one could not change the past. She took a few steps forward with a sigh, clouding the air before her face, and held her head up, lighting her face in a smile of greeting and waving to Bae as she climbed the steps to the front door.

The door was open before she had a chance to knock, and Bae was peering up at her with huge dark eyes, “Miss Belle!” he cried. Belle had to laugh.

“Hey, Bae,” she beamed, “Could you let me in?”

Bae stood aside so Belle could come in, and she closed the door behind her. For a moment she wondered where the master of the house was, whether he had elected to sulk in his study, or had even forgotten she was bringing food at all, and was busy preparing dinner. “You brought burgers!” Bae was all but hopping in excitement, and Belle nodded.

“Granny says hello,” Belle told him. “And to chew your food.”

“Granny always says to chew food,” Bae replied. “I do chew it!”

“I know,” Belle rolled her eyes. “She used to always say that to me when I was a kid as well.”

Bae looked at her like she’d handed him the sun with just that small connection. Belle wondered – not for the first time – whether there was some small sense memory left in the child, whether something in him recognised something in her. It seemed unnatural that such a well-loved, well-adjusted boy should become so attached to a stranger so fast. 

“You gonna take me to your papa, then?” Belle asked, around the reformed anxious lump that had now decided it would exist in her throat, chest, and stomach. “I’m sure he’ll want to heat these up a bit first, it’s starting to snow out there.”

“Snow?” Bae cried, ecstatic. Belle nodded.

“Looks like,” she confirmed.

Almost hopping with excitement, Bae took her hand, leading her through the house to the dining room. “Papa!” he cried. “Miss Belle’s here!”

Gold looked up from his paper, and for just a second Belle saw the same internal battle happen on his face as had happened to her outside. She saw his automatic response – eyebrows high; an easy smile, and those warm dark eyes she’d loved so much – and then saw him remember. In the space of one heartbeat to the next she saw him fall easy victim to the memory of the domesticity that had been their lives, and then recall the truth of the matter. His whole face changed: his smile turned perfunctory, and his eyes shuttered and dark. It was their whole unhappy reunion, captured in shadow play across his features. Belle’s heart ached. 

“Ah, Miss French,” he said, and she winced as he rose to his feet.

“Come on, it’s Belle,” she corrected him, Bae watching the display with fascination. She wouldn’t allow him to shut her out again, not when he had come to demand her presence tonight, not when he had agreed to talk to her honestly. She wouldn’t let him use such ridiculous formality to recreate the distance they’d started to bridge: not now, not again.

“Of course,” he said, his shoulders relaxing just a little. “Belle. You brought dinner?”

She nodded, thankful to have a neutral topic of discussion to begin with. “It’s cold out,” she said. “The burgers got a little chilled.”

“I already have the oven heated,” he replied, “just pop them in for five minutes and we’ll be ready to eat.”

“Perfect,” she said, already settling the bags onto the table. She took off her coat and slung it over the back of one of the dining chairs, and took the bags with her to the kitchen. 

She slipped back into this role as easily as she did her heels: the plates were over the sink; the oven opened from the right; the baking sheets for the burgers were down next to the hob. She felt his eyes on her as she worked quickly, the same task she had performed countless times with leftovers, with ready-made meals, with frozen pizzas and the occasional Chinese takeout. She knew this kitchen better than she knew her room at Granny’s, and she didn’t even think as she moved, setting the timer for five minutes before settling back against the counter.

“I came to give you a hand,” Gold said, as she finally faced him. “But it seems you remember where everything is.” 

She almost laughed at that, “Cam, I made three meals a day in this room six days a week for two years. Yes, I know where the plates are.”

He pursed his lips, “Are we back to first names, then?” he asked.

“Is hearing your own first name so rare for you?” she asked, in return. “Does everyone in town call you ‘Gold’ now?”

“Belle, I can count on the fingers of one hand the people in my adult life who’ve dared or wished to address me by my given name,” he held up his hands, counting them off, “You, my ex-wife, my wayward father… oh, look at that,” he held up his three fingers, “We’re done already.”

“There’s no need to be an ass about it,” she rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but notice that her voice almost sounded fond. Belle was rapidly coming to the conclusion that meeting here, in his home where they’d shared so many memories, was a mistake. It was too easy to forget that she’d ever left; it was too easy to want to pick up where they’d left off.

“Too late for that, dear,” he retorted. 

“You are right, though,” she nodded, ignoring the hard tone he had adopted as a reflex. “We need to settle on names, or Bae will ask questions. If you call me Miss French tonight I will brain you with my handbag, fair warning, although we’ve established that already.”

“Fair enough,” he smiled. “I… suppose that you might as well call me Cam again, if it suits. Perhaps it would do the boy good to hear a little informality once in a while.”

“Aw, look who’s a soft touch,” she snickered. “Next you’ll be telling me they should allow children to play games at recess.”

“Steady on,” he murmured, but she saw the gleam in his eyes, the teasing little quirk of his lips. 

She had missed this, she thought, truly she had. She had travelled all over the world, and yet somehow he was still the only person she’d ever felt spoke the exact same language as her. It comforted her a little, to feel that that strange connection between them had survived in some form.

“Where’s Bae?” she asked. Cam shrugged.

“I had him set the table,” he said. “He’s already full to the brim with questions. I hope you have answers ready.”

“Honestly?” She smiled. “I’ve been waiting for his questions for five years. Do you have the box I brought?”

“I hid it in my study,” he told her.

“Oh, good,” Belle nodded, then frowned, “Wait, I never told you which one it was.”

He looked at her with one eyebrow raised, “Belle, the box was wrapped in paper with little book-reading owls on it, it was the size of a very large shoebox, and-“

“And what?”

“And…” he flushed, a little embarrassed, “I knew your handwriting by sight.”

“Oh,” Belle bit her lip, and nodded. She must have written him a thousand little notes back then, everything from love-notes tucked in his suit pockets for him to find to ordinary post-its reminding him to buy milk on the way home, or informing him if she had taken Bae for a walk. Of course he’d know her handwriting. She wondered how many of those notes had ended up in that box of his.

“I’ll give it to you after dinner,” he said. “You can go through the box with Bae then.”

“Thank you, Cam,” she smiled, a real smile, full of gratitude. “I really do appreciate this.” He inclined his head.

The moment stretched between them, warm and heavy. Once he would have broken this silence by crossing the room and kissing her breathless, the burgers forgotten as he pressed her against the counter, his mouth plundering hers. How many meals had they ruined by doing just that? Belle wondered if she would feel those recollections so physically if they had kept their clothes on since her return, if the memory of how his body felt against hers, his mouth and his hands, weren’t so fresh. She wondered if he felt the same thing.

The timer beeped and they both jumped, the moment broken. “I’ll plate these up,” she said, “You go sit with Bae.”

“Okay,” he nodded, and she saw his hand shake on his cane as he walked back through to the dining room, grateful to get away from her. Belle knew how he felt: she ran a hand through her hair, trying to steady herself, and took a second to breathe, her hands braced on the counter, before she got to work. 

The burgers smelled amazing, and it only took a moment to have them on plates surrounded by fries, looking for all the world like they’d never seen a polystyrene container. The iced teas and cola she poured into tall glasses, and it all fit neatly onto a broad tray she recognised so well. Another little mausoleum to their former life, she thought with a tug as she arranged everything: the tray she’d bought for his birthday so she could bring him breakfast in bed.

She carried the whole lot through to the dining room, and Bae was bouncing in his chair. “No pickles, right Miss Belle?” he asked, eyeing the food a little worriedly. “I hate pickles.”

“No, I remember,” Belle assured him, setting his plate and his glass of cola down in front of him, “No pickles anywhere near Bae Gold’s food.”

“’S right,” he mumbled, his mouth already full of fries and burger.

“Bae,” Gold frowned at his son. “We wait for everyone to be ready before we start eating, and we don’t talk with our mouths full.”

Bae blinked at him guiltily, and swallowed the whole lot down. “Sorry papa,” he said, contritely. His eyes were still eyeing his food, but he sat on his hands to restrain himself. Belle smothered a smile, as she set Gold’s food down in front of him as well, and then her own.

“Iced tea?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as she sat herself opposite Bae, to Gold’s left at the head of the table. 

“Is that not your order anymore?” she asked, without a trace of concern. “You always told me sweetened soft drinks were for children and childish adults.”

Bae was watching the pair of them with wide eyes, and Gold coughed to cover a laugh. “That ah,” he smiled, “that does sound rather like me, doesn’t it?”

“And I was hardly going to order beer from Granny,” Belle said a little primly, squirting a healthy dollop of ketchup onto her plate and dipping a fry into it. “She’s watching me closely enough as it is.”

“Why is Granny watching you, Miss Belle?” Bae asked, and Belle’s eyes shot to his a little guiltily. 

To Belle’s eternal surprise, Gold stepped in before she had the chance to cover with a lie. “Belle’s father died recently, Bae,” he told him, gently. Belle stared at him, mouth open in shock, the fry in her hand forgotten. “Granny’s an old friend of hers, so she wants to make sure she’s okay, you see?”

Bae’s eyes went wide, and he stared at Belle. “Your dad died?”

Belle felt a lump rise in her throat at his naked sympathy, and she nodded, shoving the fry in her mouth to give her something to focus on. Was Gold trying to starve her, bringing that up at dinner? Was he trying to force her into fleeing, to frighten her off with more honesty than she could take?

She looked at him, wondering if she was going to see hard malice in his dark eyes. Instead, she saw the same wealth of sympathy she saw from Bae, and something else, something that said that he was trying here, and that begged her to try with him.

She swallowed, and looked back at Bae. “That’s why I came back to Storybrooke, actually,” she said.

“So now Granny’s watching you?” Bae asked. Belle nodded.

“I told you I knew her when I was a kid, didn’t I?” Belle reminded him. He nodded. “Well, she looked after me a lot then. So I guess she’s sort of looking after me now, as well. Grown-ups tend to feel a little more like kids again when bad things happen.”

“That’s good,” Bae decided, and Belle felt herself smiling at his surety. “Are you okay?”

“I’m coping,” Belle smiled, reassuringly. “Granny’s taking good care of me. And how could I not be okay when I get to have burgers with the two of you?”

She meant to bring a smile back to Bae’s face, and she did. What she hadn’t counted on was her own eyes slipping to gauge Gold’s reaction, to find him watching her closely, his eyes unfathomably deep. 

“You looked after me when I was little too, didn’t you Miss Belle?”

“I did, actually,” Belle nodded, thankful to return her attention to Bae, having at least prepared herself for these questions. “You were very, very small then though, I don’t expect you to remember.”

“Did I cry a lot when I was a baby?” he asked, around a mouthful of burger. Gold looked like he was going to censure him again, but Belle’s smile seemed to stop him.

“You did, actually,” she snickered. “You were afraid of the vacuum cleaner. You would cry for hours if I tried to clean up.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Gold smirked, “Still won’t hoover your room, will you, eh?”

Bae scowled at him and said nothing, shoving a handful of fries in his face. Gold just sighed and took another genteel bite of his burger.

Belle smiled at the pair of them, feeling another of those strange tugs that made this scene far more familiar than it had any right to be. Bae had been talking in sentences by the time she left, but only just, and had been unable to follow a conversation for long. He was a person now, she thought, a little person with thoughts and feelings and a budding personality of his own. Of all the people she’d been reunited with since returning home, Bae had changed the most simply by virtue of his age. And yet somehow, looking at him, Belle felt he was the least like a stranger to her. 

She turned the topic to Temeraire, and from there Bae chattered on about his obsessive love for dragons, and Emma’s costume for the school play, and how he hadn’t tried out because it conflicted with soccer but he wished he had. Belle and Gold each only had to prompt him with the occasional observation or question before he’d be off again, allowing them to sit in relative silence and avoid engaging with one another. Belle still snuck the occasional glance at Gold, catching him often in profile, his eyes on his son, his face relaxed and his smile fond, even doting. He adored Bae more than anything in the world, and it worried Belle how deeply she related: she felt she would kill for this child in a moment if she had to, despite knowing him only a couple of months.

“But they’re letting you help paint the sets, aren’t they Bae?” Gold asked, when Bae had finally run out of reasons why he was definitely trying out for the play next term. Bae nodded.

“They’re letting my whole class help, and we get out of math to go do it, which is awesome because I love painting and I hate math.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Belle said. “Ruby and I repainted the library before we opened and it was so much fun.”

Bae’s eyes widened, his food long-since finished – a blessing, because his mouth was also hanging open – and he stared at Belle. “You painted all that?” he demanded. “That’s so cool!”

“Ruby’s the real artist,” Belle admitted. “I mostly do colouring-in. She painted the big castle on the back wall, I did the other walls.”

“You should tell Miss Lucas how much you like the castle, Bae,” Gold told him. “I’m sure she’d love to hear it.”

Belle gaped at him, “Is that…? Cam, are you advocating kindness toward virtual strangers?” 

“Miss Lucas is hardly a stranger,” he said, a little stiffly. “We used to go to Granny’s often, and she’s a fixture in this town.”

“Yeah, we used to,” Bae grumbled, “then we stopped and now we never go.”

Gold coughed a little awkwardly. Belle rolled her eyes: he’d been avoiding Granny’s because of her. Of course he had. “Yes, well. Perhaps we can start going again, now.”

“Really?” Bae’s head shot up. “Will Miss Belle come too?”

Belle felt her heart thunder in her chest, as Gold remained silent, watching her while he took a long sip of his iced tea. “I live in the inn right now, Bae,” she said. “So I’m sure I’d see you there.”

Bae grinned, and then suddenly something seemed to occur to him, looking at their empty plates and near-drained glasses. “Miss Belle…?”

“Yes, Bae?”

Bae shot a look at Gold, “Papa said you brought me a present,” he said, in a bit of a rush, and Belle was unsurprised to realise Gold must have trained him not to ask people for things. She wondered how well that lesson would play when he learned about his father’s loan-sharking, or rent collection day.

“I did, actually,” she said, carefully, taking a deep breath. This was it, she thought: she had wanted to be with Bae, to show him the things she’d bought with him in mind, to share this part of her life with him. Now was her chance. “I actually got you a lot of things. I think your papa has the box.”

“Really?” Bae all but squeaked. “Papa?”

“Why don’t you to go get comfortable in the living room?” Gold suggested, looking all of a sudden weary and uncomfortable. “I’ll clear up and bring it through.”

“’Kay papa!” Bae said, and slid down off his chair, toddling off to the living room without waiting for Belle.

“Is this okay?” Belle found herself asking. “To do this, I mean?”

“Having second thoughts?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. She shook her head.

“You look upset,” she observed. “And… it’s weird, isn’t it? Me being here?”

He breathed out, long and slow. “Yes,” he said, after a moment. “It is rather. I suppose had rather assumed we would never do this again, eat here together with Bae, all of us. I had thought this part of my life over and to have it re-enacted is… odd, to say the least. You must permit me a little discomfort.”

Belle nodded, and had to wonder in that moment what he meant by ‘discomfort’. Did he hate having her here so much it pained him? Was it just the strangeness of it, the readjustment, trying to shift a world-view that was already resistant to change? Or was it something deeper than that, something that called to him that said this was right, this was as things were meant to be, and the constant reminder that this was an anomaly and not the norm that caused him to grit his teeth?

Belle caught herself hoping for the latter. She didn’t examine that feeling: it was built on sand, on nostalgia and empty wishing, and she would no sooner ruin whatever genuine peace was quietly creating itself than she would cut off her own fingers. 

“I’ll go sit with Bae,” she said. She could already hear him calling from the living room. “See you in there?”

“Of course,” he replied.

They both rose to their feet at the same moment, hands resting on the table, and Belle didn’t look before she moved and their fingers brushed, overlapping, a total accident. Belle felt a prickle of electricity where his skin touched hers, her blood singing with the contact, and she looked up to see his eyes as wide and confused as hers. She pulled back sharply, holding her hand like he’d burned her, her heart hammering in her chest. Nostalgia, she thought to herself, and empty wishing. Memories of another life, that was all this was.

She all but fled into the living room, and felt his eyes follow her retreat. 

Bae was sitting on the couch, his knees swinging, waiting for her. “I’m super glad you came tonight, Miss Belle!” he chirped as she sat down beside him, and she beamed at him.

“I am too, Bae,” she said.

“Can I ask you something, Miss Belle?” he asked, after another second. 

“Anything,” she replied, all but holding her breath. 

“Papa said you went all over the world. Where did you go? Did you see penguins? Did you see lions?” 

Belle laughed, having expected a much harder question. “Well, actually Bae, that’s sort of why I came over this evening.”

“Did you bring a lion?” Bae frowned, doubtfully. “Because papa says we can’t get a pet.”

“No,” Belle shook her head, “No, I- oh, here it is now,” Gold had walked into the room, holding the wrapped box under his arm, and handed it to her. “Thanks,” she smiled, gratefully, and turned back to Bae as Gold seated himself in the armchair across from them.

“Is that for me?” Bae demanded, bouncing on his hands. Belle nodded, grinning.

“Your papa told you I babysat you when you were little,” she said. “Well, we were good friends then, you and I. And I missed you very, very much when I went away, so when I was in little shops and places, I found things that I wanted to give to you.”

Bae’s eyes widened, and Belle handed him the box. He stared at it for a moment, his hand stroking the paper. “They’re all in there,” Belle told him. “And if you like I can go through it with you, and tell you the story behind each one.”

“You got him a box of stories,” Gold murmured, and when Belle looked over at him, for just a second his face was so open it stunned her. “Of course you did.” He was looking at her with naked wonder, confusion and misery and adoration warring on his face, and she wanted to rise to her feet, to cross the space and lay her head in his lap and comfort him, as she would have done in a moment in that lost time so long ago.

Now, she watched as he schooled his expression, but his eyes remained raw, helpless and lost. It hurt him to have her here, she thought, so close to what he must have missed for so long. She thought of those little mausoleums all over the house, the empty spaces where her things had once rested, unclaimed now and unfulfilled. How painful it must be, she thought, to have grown used to that emptiness only to have it filled again, and have it be temporary.

How painful it was in return, to fit so easily back into a space that had inexplicably been left for her, and know she was not welcome to remain within it. To not even be certain whether she wanted to remain. 

“I did,” she nodded, her voice suddenly hoarse, throat dry. “And I can tell all of them, if you want?”

“Yes!” Bae cried, nodding furiously, “Yes please!”

“Well, then open it,” Belle gestured to the box, and, permission granted, Bae tore at the wrapping with reckless abandon, throwing shreds of paper to the floor in his haste. He lifted the lid gingerly, as if whatever was inside could bite him, and he stared at the riches that lay within.

“Where do you want to start?” Belle asked. Bae reached a hand inside, and drew out the first thing he touched.

“Here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Belle tells her stories, and Gold has a revelation


	19. Adaptation

Belle clapped her hands, delighted, as Bae pulled a little leather pouch – a wallet, Gold could see, once the light shone on it – with an elephant intricately stitched on the front. “Where’s this from?” Bae asked, excitedly. Belle grinned.

“There’s this elephant conservation park, deep in the jungles of Sri Lanka,” she said, with a dramatic little flourish. Gold found himself leaning forward on his knees to hear her better. “Where they’ll let you wash an elephant and ride on her back.”

“You rode an _elephant_?” Bae’s jaw dropped, and Belle nodded.

“There’s a lot of parks that’ll offer that, but I did some research so I made sure it was a nice one. Some places aren’t nice to their elephants, but these were very, very happy elephants. The elephant I met had tonnes of friends and room to roam around in, and got backrubs and treats every day.”

“What was his name?” Bae asked next.

“ _Her_ name,” Belle stressed, “Was Lakshmi, and she liked being rubbed with coconuts in the river. That’s how you wash an elephant: you get her to lie down in a river, and then scrub her skin with the rough side of a coconut. Then her handler told me to climb on her back, and Mulan – you remember Mulan, don’t you?” Bae nodded, his eyes wide with rapture. “Well, Mulan was laughing and had her camera ready, because she knew what was coming next but I didn’t.”

“What came next?”

“Lakshmi raised her trunk out of the water, and the handler told me to duck my head and a moment later…” Belle raised her arm in mimicry of an elephant’s trunk, inhaling deeply, and Gold had to laugh along with Bae as she made a loud gushing noise on her exhalation, “She blew half the river all over me!”

Bae pressed his hands to his mouth, giggling like it was the first joke he’d ever heard. “ _Then_ did you get to ride her?”

“Well then she did it a few more times,” Belle said, and winked, “Just to make sure my clothes were _really_ soaked. But then yes, Mulan came and joined me and then Lakshmi rose up on her feet and just sort of carried us off! Her handler led us on her back all around the park, it was so beautiful.” She looked down at the wallet in Bae’s hands then, and smiled wistfully. “They had a little gift shop, to help raise money for the elephants. I thought, I know a boy who’d like elephants, so I bought this for you.”

Bae looked down at the wallet in his hands, and traced the embroidery with a reverent fingertip, “Is this Lakshee?”

“Lak _shmi_ ,” Belle corrected, “After the Hindu goddess of fortune. And it could be, I suppose. Honestly, all elephants look sort of the same, big and grey with big ears and long trunks.” Bae giggled again at that, drawn in by Belle’s confidential tone.

Bae then dove back into the box and found something else – a folded scarf with sequins on it – and Belle was off again, describing a faux-Bedouin camp in the desert outside Dubai that some enterprising fellow had set up for the tourists. She told him about the jeeps in the desert, the sunset over the sand, how beautiful the landscape was after the bustle of the city. Her voice softened when she described how after dinner they’d turned all the lights out and everyone lay back on soft carpets, and how there were more stars in that endless dark sky than she’d ever seen.

Bae was a little less interested in stars and sand than he had been in elephants, but Gold caught her tone when she mentioned the stillness, the quiet, and the unknowable beauty of the night sky. He thought for a moment how fortunate it was that she was tied to the earth, and that she couldn’t lose herself in constellations as she had in continents.

It went on in this fashion, a lump in Gold’s throat and a knot in his belly as Belle revealed, piece-by-piece, the wonders of the life that had stolen her away. He resented that piece of embroidered leather, that silk scarf, the little toy lion from a safari park in Botswana and the miniature Eiffel tower from a tacky tourist shop near the Louvre. Every treasure in Bae’s box was another memory she’d made without them. He hated every one of them for keeping her away, and for meaning more to her than the home and family she now claimed to have missed so much.

But then, slowly, something strange began to happen. He heard the wonder in her voice, caught her warm smiles, her wistfulness, the true and honest pleasure she took in sharing these memories and giving these tokens, and the resentment faded away. Instead, he felt almost grateful to her for having taken what she wanted, for living these experiences instead of simply dreaming of them. She seemed to glow, to shine as she spoke, like one of those stars over the desert caught here in his living room.

Perhaps she had been right, he caught himself thinking: perhaps she would have awoken, five or ten years after missing her chance to go, and found a part of herself missing, an aching empty space where these memories should have been. Perhaps staying here would have deprived her, kept her from becoming whatever she was now: a captured star laughing in his living room and spilling treasures in his son’s lap. Perhaps they were all the richer, for Belle having taken that time to become who she was destined to be.

After a while – four stories, maybe five – he had to stand and get himself a drink. He tarried in the kitchen, seeking his favourite scotch in the high cabinet where he kept the liquor, and occasionally he heard a cry of delight from Bae, or a dramatic noise from Belle, to signal he hadn’t been missed. They were lost in their own little world, communicating in a language of youthful excitement and discovery that Gold could barely understand with his old, cynical ears. What a fool he had been, he thought, finally unscrewing the cap and pouring himself two fingers, to have thought he could keep them apart. Belle was more a part of Bae than Mila had ever been: she lived under his skin, somewhere perhaps even Bae had never known about.

There would be no separating them now, of course. Bae would be hooked on her stories and her jokes, her wildfire imagination and her endless knowledge. She was an adventuress, burnished by brave quests and derring-do, like a hero from one of his books. What could Gold possibly be by comparison? Just a sour old villain, he supposed, a vengeful, resentful dragon stewing over his horde and his treasures, hissing at the light.

He stood in the kitchen for some time, sipping is whiskey, trying to organise his thoughts into something resembling order. He still had the offer over her house. It had started as a way to get her out of town, but it had become something of a safety valve, a way to feel as if he had some sort of control over the situation. She could not vanish without his knowing, and at least this way he gained something from her leaving.

It was a weak excuse, and in the deep, dark pit of his soul he hated himself for it. She was trying so hard to reconcile, and there was a chance – more likely every day, it seemed – that she would not vanish in the night as he had feared. Every passing minute since she had arrived, beautiful and smiling, flushed from the cold with flecks of snow melting in her hair, had made his deception seem more and more like a betrayal. Even the thought that this was all for Bae, to protect him from her, was shown for the lie that it was in that light.

Not for the first time, Gold felt himself standing at a crossroads, paralysed by indecision: to trust or to control; to be cruel and safe, or to be kind and leave himself open to ruin.

Their voices filtered through the open doorways, warm and happy, the sort of sounds he used to dream about coming home to at night. It would be so easy to trust this, to relax into it and let the world finally realign itself; it would be so easy to watch it burn down around him, Belle pouring the gasoline while he threw down matches, and wind up colder and darker than ever before.

Eventually, he drained his glass and poured himself another, and made his way back to the living room. Bae had shifted closer to Belle, so the box was spread over both their laps, her side pressed to his. Her arm would only have to move a little and she would be holding them close, he thought, and his heart gave an unwelcome tug.

\---

_He was late home, the sun setting and the evening growing cold. The chill wreaked havoc with his leg, but he made it up the steps to his porch, thankful at least that Belle had the lights on and would likely have supper in the oven. His little love wasn’t much of a cook, but the way Gold was feeling he had no time for standing in his kitchen preparing a meal. He wanted a drink, his lover, his baby son, and dinner, not necessarily in that order._

_When he came inside, he heard her voice first. He would normally call out, announce himself so as not to startle her and thus scare the baby should she be holding him. Tonight, however, her voice silenced him: she was singing, something low and soft, her accent rolling over the syllables in that rich alto of hers._

_He turned the corner into the living room, entranced, following that low sound. She stood in the centre of the room, Bae in her arms, rocking him gently as she sang._

_“Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree-ee, merry little king of the bush is he-ee, laugh, kookaburra laugh, kookaburra gay your life must be…”_

_Bae was cuddled into her, his head rested on her breast, one fist curled by his mouth. He was sound asleep, lulled and peaceful at the sound of her voice. Gold always marvelled at the effect Belle had on him: his son was not an easy sleeper, as numerous sleepless nights had taught him, and singing had never worked before. But then, in those days it had never been Belle singing._

_Now the house was full of song, and light, and laughter. She brought warmth with her wherever she went, and he was endlessly thankful that she chose to keep it here, with him._

_She was beautiful, illuminated in the soft golden lamplight, her hair tumbling down over one shoulder and his son curled trustingly against her chest. She was looking at the baby with a deep and abiding love, eyes soft and gentle on Bae’s sleeping face as she sang. It was the perfect image of mother and child, and for a moment it was strangely easy to forget that this young woman whom he loved so deeply was not Bae’s mother. Mila had never looked like this: calm and at peace, somehow completed, and in love with the child in her arms._

_The spell ought to have been broken when he settled his weight and a floorboard creaked, but instead she just blinked up at him, her smile beatific, welcoming him into the moment instead of banishing it. He felt a rush of something through him, something that drew him closer to her, his heart heavy in his chest._

_“Hey,” she breathed._

_“Hey,” he replied, amazed when the word was intelligible, his throat and tongue struck dumb by her. They’d been together for over a year, but still he felt himself pulled to her as if she held him by a string. “I don’t want to wake him.”_

_“You won’t,” she smiled, a familiar, easy smile. “He’s been out for half an hour now.”_

_“You’re a wonder,” he murmured. She blushed, and he leaned in to kiss her gently, marvelling in the perfection of that single moment with her smiling in his arms, Bae nestled between them, and the world at peace._

\---

Bae yawned, breaking Gold out of his reverie, and Belle smiled down at him before Gold had the chance to say anything. “I think that’s enough for tonight,” she said. “And we’ve got through most of it.”

“There’s still more,” Bae protested, but Gold could hear the tired, grumpy edge coming into his voice. “I can stay up.”

“No, you can’t,” he said, stepping in. Bae’s head shot up at the sound of his voice.

“But papa…” he whined. “I wanna hear _all_ the stories.”

“You will,” he assured his son, with a sharp look to Belle. “I’m sure Belle would be more than happy to reconvene at a later date.”

“Of course,” she beamed, taking his warning for a promise instead, it seemed. “I’d love to.”

“But I’m not sleepy,” Bae complained, before breaking into a huge yawn.

“It’s nine pm,” Gold told him. “Time for children to be in bed. Come on,” he stepped forward and took his son’s hand, pulling him off the sofa while Bae grumbled. “You don’t want Belle to think you’re badly behaved, do you?”

“No,” he mumbled, a little sheepishly.

“Good, then say goodnight.”

“G’night Belle,” Bae waved his hand, and Gold tried not to wonder when he had dispensed with the formal ‘Miss’.

“Goodnight, Bae,” she waved back, her smile doting, her eyes full of unabashed adoration. “I’ll be back to tell you the rest soon, okay?”

Bae nodded, and when Belle opened her arms he stepped forward and hugged her tight. Gold felt something squeeze inside him, and swallowed hard. Belle held Bae close, her eyes squeezed shut, as if she were trying to breathe him into her very skin. They clung to each other for a long moment, and Gold had to readjust his thinking: Belle wasn’t just a part of Bae; he was part of her too.

Bae pulled away at last, and Gold led him upstairs, supervising his changing and brushing his teeth, combing the knots from his curly hair and getting into bed. “I think it is lights off time, don’t you?” Gold raised an eyebrow and Bae nodded.

“G’night papa,” he mumbled, his voice already half asleep as Gold clicked off the little bedside lamp, and turned on the nightlight. Seven years since Belle had discovered Bae couldn’t sleep in the dark, and she had yet to be proven wrong. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bae,” he said, and left the door ajar as he left and returned downstairs.

Belle hadn’t moved from the sofa, and now sat with her hands between her knees, her face showing a hundred conflicting emotions. “He hugged me,” she murmured, as Gold returned to stand in the doorway, watching her. “Is he… is he always so sweet?”

“Not always,” Gold said, dryly. “He’s got a right temper on him when he gets going.”

“I can’t imagine it,” Belle said. Gold shrugged.

“It is rare,” he allowed. “Somehow I managed to raise a child with an even temperament and regard for the feelings of others. Imagine that.”

“It’s not hard to believe. You’re a good father, Cam,” she said, her eyes finally lifting to meet his. “And he’s such a great kid.”

“You have to stay in touch, now,” he warned her; panic seizing him at her tone of voice. “You can’t walk away from him again.”

“I won’t,” she promised, shaking her head. “I won’t, I promise. I couldn’t. I love him, Cam. I loved him when he was small and that never changed. I should never have abandoned him the way I did, regardless of what happened to us. I should have called or… or something.”

“He’ll love you too,” he said, trying to discern if it was regret he heard in his own voice. “Given a little time. How could he not?”

She gave him a smile, a weak and faltering thing but real and genuine all the same. The moment held, long and warm, a rare communion between the two of them where he felt as if he could almost tell what she was thinking.

“We were going to talk, weren’t we?” she asked, her voice pitched low, not breaking the moment but somehow feeding it. He nodded.

“Would you like some wine?” he asked. She gave a soft laugh, and nodded.

“Oh, God yes.”

He laughed with her, and nodded, retrieving a bottle of Merlot from the kitchen, two glasses and a corkscrew. He poured it out upon his return, setting the bottle on the coffee table and sitting beside her at the other end of the sofa, a full body’s space between them. They both took a long drink before speaking.

“This is good,” Belle said, after a moment. “The wine, I mean.”

“You’re now going to reveal some unknown wine expertise?” he asked, dryly. “To match the mountain-hiking and the elephant-riding?”

“You just heard all of my most exciting stories,” she told him. “I figured Bae wouldn’t care much for the thrilling two months I spent working in an Australian call centre to pay for three weeks in the Outback, or the nine days I was curled on the floor in Thailand with dysentery. I honestly thought I would die there.”

He snorted through his nose, somehow comforted by the knowledge that adventure came with a price. She chuckled with him. “I’m sure you’re gratified by that,” she said. “I abandoned you and everything we had only to spend over a week locked in a Thai bathroom.”

“It is somewhat satisfying,” he admitted. She rolled her eyes. “Although I must confess that I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Belle. To hear you speak now it almost sounds worth it.”

“It was worth it,” she said, with a small shrug. “I made some amazing friends, I have all of these stories to tell and all the photos and journal entries and memories to back them up. I did everything I always wanted and I was really happy for a while. And… and Bae has had a good childhood, Cam. You can’t tell me you’ve spent five years in torment because of me. You don’t produce a happy child like that from a home full of pain.”

Gold was brought up short by that, and forced himself to think it over rather than dismissing her out of hand. “I suppose we adapt, don’t we?” he said, after a moment.

“I suppose we do,” she agreed, and when he looked in her eyes he was surprised to find a sadness there that mirrored his own. He felt that question fall again on the tip of his tongue: _how did we get to this place where I don’t know you?_

Instead he cleared his throat, and asked something else, “I take it you meant it, then?”

“Meant what?”

“That you missed him,” Gold almost used a different pronoun, the fatal ‘us’, and included himself in the question. He caught himself at the last moment, and pulled it back. He hoped Belle hadn’t heard the momentary pause, and yet he also hoped for all the world that she had understood it for what it was.

“I meant every word,” she replied, her deep blue eyes so soft and gentle, and oh he could drown if only he could allow himself. Her eyes had always been a problem for him. “And it wasn’t just Bae I missed, you know,” she added, and something inside Gold cringed away while the rest leaned closer, desperate for more. “I know you don’t believe me, but I missed you, too. I missed you more than I wanted to admit.” She snorted through her nose, and shook her head, taking a sip of her wine as if to diffuse the moment. “I even dreamed about you, you know. Every now and again, and you were always just out of reach.”

He wanted to believe her, more than he wanted anything else in the world. He wanted to take her word as gospel as once he had, to wrap himself up in those reassuring sentiments, and then to fool himself that he was safe there.

Once he would have believed her incapable of a lie, but he knew now the folly of such blind trust. After that spell had been broken, he would have assumed the opposite: that she was some sort of cruel manipulator, out only for what she could get, and happy to lie to his face if it kept him from seeing the truth of her. Gold had thought himself above falling for his own deceit, but here he was, faced now with the knowledge that both conceptions of her had been delusions, works of his own imagination. She was not the saint he had once believed, but neither was she cruel, or evil, or heartless.

Finally, he felt he was coming to see her, the truth of her, this complicated and chaotic maelstrom of a woman who sat beside him fidgeting with the hem of her blue skirt, her lower lip between her teeth and a tempest in her eyes. She didn’t know how she felt any better than he did. Some days, he thought, perhaps she had missed him. Other days – the day with the elephant, perhaps, or under the Eiffel tower – he had no doubts that he had been hundreds of miles from her thoughts.

“I missed you too,” he said, at last, the only truth he knew. And that, too, more complicated than it sounded: he had missed her in the evenings when Bae was asleep and he found himself alone, and it had been hard to look at those empty places in his home where her things belonged, and know she would never return to fill them. He had missed her when Bae had done something she would find sweet or amusing, and when he’d walked by places she had frequented. At first, her ghost had been omnipresent and undeniable.

But Bae had grown, as children do, and mealtimes had become full of his chatter and Gold’s pleas for him to eat, and the evenings had been split between tantrums and peels of laughter, and Gold had, as he had said, adapted. He had missed her, but certainly not every minute of every day. How could he hold her inconsistencies against her when he was guilty of the very same?

“I feel like things might have been easier if we’d started with that,” Belle said, a little sheepishly. “Rather than spending the past few months yelling at each other.”

“But if that’s the case, why didn’t you seek us out when first you came home?” The thought had been weighing on his mind for some time, and he’d not thought to voice it until it was out of his mouth. She swirled the wine in her glass, her eyes on the liquid and not on his face.

“You’ve been thinking about that, huh?” she asked, instead of answering.

“It’s rather hard to forget one’s former lover sleeping rough in an abandoned house,” he admitted. He saw how her eyebrow twitched when he said the word ‘former’, and remembered all of a sudden her legs around his middle and her neck arching under his lips in his bathroom only the day before. Perhaps ‘former’ was too strong and too simple a word. Gold began to wonder whether there was anything simple about this situation at all.

“And,” he continued, when she did not answer, “I suppose I took it rather personally. You said you’d hidden to avoid me, after all. You were willing to endure a great deal in order to avoid facing me.”

She drained her glass before she answered, and busied herself pouring another. He watched her evasive action with guarded eyes, his face a mask, giving nothing away.

It was only after she’d taken another sip, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, that she answered him. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me?” he asked. “I don’t believe that. You were never scared of me.”

“Of course not of you,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Even when I thought you’d gone after Will, I knew you’d never do anything to me.”

“Then what in the world were you so frightened of?”

“This!” she turned to him suddenly, her wine lurching in her glass, her eyes suddenly flashing as she gestured around them, “All of this!”

“All of what?” he frowned, unable to follow her sweeping generalisation, and she rolled her eyes.

“Everything that’s happened since we saw each other again. We did _terrible_ things to one another when we broke up, me as well as you. I knew if I saw you again it would all come surging back to the surface and I wouldn’t be able to leave. There’s so much _history_ between us that sometimes it honestly hurts me to look at you, because I did miss you, and sometimes I regret leaving and sometimes I don’t. I lost so much when I left, and yes I gained a great deal too but some of it… some of it I can never get back. I just want to know how I feel, I hate feeling so confused and I don’t want to regret anything, Cam; I can’t live like that. And yet sometimes I look at you and I think I still…”

She had shifted closer to him in her tirade, and her eyes dipped low and away from his, unable to finish her sentence. She had set her wine glass on the coffee table, and he had done the same. Their hands rested between them, and she slipped her fingers into his, squeezing softly.

“Sometimes I _know_ I still…” she trailed off again, and she looked up at him, her blue eyes beseeching, begging him to understand what she couldn’t put into words. He wanted to push her, to force her to say it aloud, but he couldn’t make the words come out, his tongue like lead in his mouth. “That’s why I hid,” she whispered, the fire having drained from her, something else replacing the storm in her eyes. “I couldn’t face it, and I hoped if I never came out then it wouldn’t find me. But it did,” she smiled, and he found himself smiling back. What could have been an accusation came out as something else entirely. “You found me.”

“I thought you were a burglar,” he confessed, and she shook her head. “Driving down the property value.”

She rolled her eyes and if he was optimistic, her smile was affectionate, “You don’t change, do you?”

“But you have,” he said. “There’s something… there’s so much different about you, Belle. I don’t know if I know you anymore. I never know what you’re going to do or say next.”

“I’m still me,” she promised, and he wondered if either one of them could define that to any satisfactory degree. “Maybe I’ve grown a few more layers to uncover, but I’m still here. Is that… is that enough?”

_Enough for what?_

The words stuck in his throat. She looked so hopeful, and for all he had hated her, for all the reasons he had not to trust her, all he could think was that she looked happy to see him. For just a moment, Gold was lulled by how familiar and warm it felt to sit there with her, her hands cupped in his, like the world had finally righted itself and he was back where he belonged. He knew he should tell her about the offer; about bribing her father to drive her out of Storybrooke; about Mila, and his father, and every abandonment that had led him to lash out, when her leaving finally broke his back. They should talk properly, no more secrets between them.

The words stuck in his throat, clogging and thick, unable to reach his lips for fear of shattering them both. Another question could break this fragile peace, and cast them back into that terrible place from before where they couldn’t speak without bruising one another.

This was the reunion he had wanted, deep in his hopeless heart, from the moment she had left.

“Belle, I need to tell you something,” he said. He was stunned when he felt her fingers press to his lips, stopping him from telling her everything he didn’t want her to know. Her eyes beseeched him, desperate as they searched his own.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “We can talk about all of that tomorrow, right? Can we just have tonight to just... reunite?”

Tomorrow, he thought, yes, tomorrow. He would tell her the truth, he would tell her everything, and then come Monday morning he would go straight to the realtor’s office and withdraw all offers on Game of Thorns, once and for all. But tonight, she was right: tonight they could reunite, the way they always should have.

He nodded, tears forming in his eyes. She withdrew her fingers, and he cupped her jaw, the side of his thumb stroking reverently over her cheek. He drew her in toward him, and she craned up into his kiss, her mouth against his sweet and tender, tentative. He cradled her jaw in his hands as her fingers clutched his shoulders, and deepened their kiss, slanting his mouth over hers and coaxing her lips apart.

She gasped when her tongue touched his, as if it was the first time, as if they hadn’t done this a thousand times before. He felt her smiling against his mouth as she kissed him back, her fingers now carding through his hair, a contented little moan coming from the back of her throat when his hand stroked down the back of her neck.

She finally pulled back from him, and like the fool he was he felt himself follow her, trying to recapture her lips before his mind cleared. She rested her forehead against his, and he took a deep breath, breathing her in. “What’s the matter?”

“Isn’t this what keeps getting us in trouble?” she asked, chewing her lip again. Her mouth was swollen from their kissing, and Gold was a little ashamed of himself that her words were secondary to the shape of her lips.

“I suppose you’re right,” he murmured, regretfully. “I could fetch your coat?”

“No!” she held his arm as he tried to rise, and he smiled at her outburst.

“Careful, dear,” he murmured, “Someone could get the impression you want to be here.”

“I-” she sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t… really know what I want. Do you?”

He knew he should tell her to leave, to work out what she wanted before she made a mistake, before they both did. But if she left, he was certain she wouldn’t come back. Oh, she’d call Bae, she’d visit him, she’d see him at the library and at Granny’s, and maybe Gold would even be invited along. But even if she didn’t know what she wanted, he had a pretty good idea: Belle wanted Bae, and who wouldn’t?

Gold knew who he was, he’d never had any illusions about that: he was a selfish man, and he hoarded what he wanted. He’d tried to hold onto her too tight last time, to bind her to him in law, to manipulate her into staying by his side. He’d hoarded her possessions, long after he’d realised she would never return for them, pieces of her as a facsimile of the real thing.

Then, when none of that had worked, he’d done everything in his power to force her away. He’d slammed the door in her face and to cast her in his own mind as the true villain of the piece. For five years he had brooded over her crimes, her abandonment, her cruelty, and since her return he’d sworn blind every day that he wanted her gone. And every day, it had been a lie.

He’d known for some time now – however hard he’d tried to hide it from himself, to deny it in the back of his mind – that he wanted her here with him. He wanted Belle tonight, and tomorrow, and next month and next year. And he was finally finished trying to pretend otherwise.

So he kissed her again, answering her question in action rather than words, and she kissed him back. She didn’t pull away again: she clutched him closer, kissing him with a familiar desperation, until he forced her to relax, stroking her hair, kissing her with such slow thoroughness that she had no choice but to sink into it.

Belle sighed, and tried to pull him down over her, to lie back on the sofa. He caught her instead, pulling her back upright and taking her hands in his. He rose to his feet, ignoring the strain on his ankle. Belle rose with him, her brows drawing together, bemused.

“Are you about to throw me out?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “But if we’re going to do this again, then for once we’re going to do it right.”

He waited, hoping that the blush rising in her cheeks was excitement and not embarrassment, hoping he hadn’t pushed too far and made her want to run. He no longer had Bae’s welfare to hide behind: he believed that she would stay in contact with him, that she regretted her time apart from him and that she wouldn’t repeat that mistake. He knew from the past few months that no matter how she felt about him, her affection for Bae didn’t waver. The box of trinkets and souvenirs resting on the coffee table was proof enough of that.

If she stayed now, then it wouldn’t be for Bae, and he couldn’t claim otherwise. Stay or leave, Bae would likely never know. The only heart on the line now was Gold’s, and it terrified him.

But she smiled, and she nodded. Belle squeezed his hand in hers before breaking his hold on the other to reach over and hand him his cane.

“Lead the way, then.”


	20. Muscle Memory

Belle’s heart was in her throat as Gold lead her up the stairs, and along to the master bedroom. She’d walked this way hundreds of times, so many that after a while that room had felt more her own than her childhood bedroom back in her father’s apartment. She knew the way like the back of her hand.

It still felt like uncharted territory.

This was deliberate; this was purposeful and planned. The night in his shop and the day before in the bathroom could be passed off as impulse, the result of heightened emotions and the physical attraction that had apparently persisted between them when all else had collapsed. This was altogether different, and Belle felt she’d lost some sort of comforting plausible deniability. But if she were honest with herself, she’d known this was a possibility when she dressed that evening: there was a reason she’d chosen one of her nicest dresses, heels a little higher and more expensive than her usual pumps, and taken care curling her hair.

Her underwear also matched, a rarity since she’d hit the road. She hoped he wouldn’t mind more of her Parisian lingerie, because everything else she had was cotton and had holes in it.

“Are you alright?” he asked, when they reached the bedroom, startling Belle out of her racing thoughts.

“Yes,” she said, “I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“We needn’t do this, you know,” he said, evenly. She caught the sense from the gravity and trepidation in his eyes that he shared her feelings. It gave her courage, somehow: it felt good to be on the same team again, to be in this together. Belle had never felt comfortable in opposition to him. “You can go home now, or any time you want, and I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“I don’t want to go home,” she said, smiling at last. He didn’t move, and eventually she reached out her hand past him and turned the doorknob herself, pushing the door open to reveal the room beyond. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

He nodded, mollified. Belle took the lead and tugged him into his own bedroom. Her eyes roved over every surface hungrily, looking for fresh photographs, furniture moved, signs of redecoration or changes to his lifestyle. She was hungry for details of him, she realised, of the man she knew so well and yet so very little of. The man he’d become since her departure, and the man he’d hidden from her long before that.

Nothing had changed. Belle was stunned: she had expected, if anywhere in the house would bear the marks of his exorcising her from his life, it would be this room where they had been so intimate and so happy. And yet aside from a few updated photographs of Bae and fresh sheets on the bed, everything was the same. They could have put Bae into his crib moments ago and wandered in here as they always had, hand in hand. For just a moment they stood there, hands clasped between them, and Belle felt five years melt away, innocence restored for just a fleeting moment.

Then her eyes found the nightstand on her side of the bed, and another suspicion was confirmed. “You didn’t replace my things,” she said, softly. “You didn’t fill the nightstand.”

“I… no,” he said, bewildered, as if he’d only just realised it himself. “No I never found anything that needed to go there, somehow. Everything I need fits on my side.”

“And the drawers, half the closet?” She turned to frown up at him, wondering if she should be sad he hadn’t let go or elated at this clear sign she’d been missed, or even a little worried that he’d been haunted by her absence.

“I have purchased new clothes in the interim,” he replied, with a half-smile. “At some point a drawer is just a drawer.”

“And the space on the shelves downstairs?” she asked, standing so close to him she had to crane her head to look in his eyes, her hands going gently to the buttons of his waistcoat. “Is that just a shelf?”

“I just never got to it,” he said, hoarsely, as she pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, his waistcoat undone and her hands flattening on his belly. She nipped the skin of his neck, shivering when his hands came to her waist, holding her in place. She kissed up the side of his throat to his jaw, and worried the corner with her teeth, making him shudder all over.

“Really?” she asked, hoping to mask her eagerness for details behind seduction, to ease her questions past his defences without him noticing.

“I didn’t want to fill it,” he admitted with a sigh, and she hummed with approval for his honesty as her fingers finished with his shirt buttons, her hands finally on bare skin. His heart raced under her palm, and she pulled back, momentarily distracted. She met his eyes, and for just a second there was no wall, no defence, no barrier between her soul and his. He was terrified, she realised, just like she was, but it was tempered with a yearning desperation that matched her own. He wanted her here as badly as she wanted to be here.

“But you didn’t want me to come back,” she reminded him, her harsh words undercut by her soft tone, pleading him to disagree, to reveal some small part of himself, so much more important than any piece of bare skin. She slid his jacket from his arms along with his waistcoat, and they landed with a soft thud behind him. He reached out a hand; the door closed with a soft ‘click’, trapping them both inside, cutting off the only escape.

“You didn’t want to come back,” he countered. “And yet here you are.”

Her fingers worked on his tie, loosening it from his collar and pulling the end free, tossing it down to join the rest. Any other night, she knew he’d gather those pieces together and fold them neatly, treat them with the respect owed to clothes that cost more than her car. It was a testament to his distraction, his intense focus on her and her alone, that he didn’t seem to even notice they were on the floor.

Leaning heavily on his cane, Gold gathered the long, loose curls of her hair together and pulled them gently over one shoulder. His fingers lightly brushed the nape of her neck as he searched for a zipper, and Belle shivered at the feather-light contact, electricity sparking down her spine. It was somehow so much more intense here, with this slow undressing, the mutual desire to strip one another bare inside and out. Every touch made her shudder. The depth of his eyes threatened to swallow her whole, and she could feel a hot, heavy ache between her legs, every brush of his hands only stoking the fire.

For the first time since her return, Belle didn’t want to hide how she was feeling from him. He’d had so many opportunities tonight to destroy her: she had all but bared her neck and begged him to, by opening herself up so fully for Bae downstairs. Instead she had felt him resign himself to her presence, and even – perhaps – come to find some acceptance. Maybe he felt the same as she did, this yearning to rediscover him, to learn all that had changed and re-learn all that had remained the same.

He found the zipper and tugged it down slowly, his fingertips stroking every inch of bare skin on the way down, and Belle shuddered all over, her body arching toward him without her conscious choice. When the zipper ended at her lower back, his hand then came to one shoulder then the other, gently pushing down the sleeves. Belle shrugged them off and shook her hips a little, allowing the dress to fall to the floor. The room was warm but Belle still shivered, and there was something hopelessly erotic about the complicity of shrugging the dress off herself, of choosing to bare herself to his eyes.

Gold sucked in a sharp breath, and Belle looked up to see him staring at her, eyes wide and pupils blown, his eyes raking over her. “You’ve lost weight,” he murmured, absently, and she nodded. “I knew but…” his fingers traced her ribcage, the hollow of her belly, her narrow hips.

“It’s no big deal,” she shrugged, suddenly wishing for something to cover her, something to shield her from his eyes. “Happens when you do a lot of exercise. Is it a problem?”

“No, no of course not.” His eyes met hers in silent apology. “I apologise, it wasn’t a criticism. You’ve just… changed, that’s all. I’m attempting to adapt.”

“I told you,” she said. “I’m still me.”

“I know,” he replied, his hand skating up and down her side, tracing the outline of her, sending sparks across her skin. “And you’re beautiful.”

Belle found herself blushing. All of a sudden she remembered exactly how he’d gotten her into bed so easily the first time: his deep, intense eyes with their singular focus; his earnest, almost disbelieving compliments; the way his most gentle touch could set a fire in her. None of that had changed. She caught his free hand in hers and tugged him close, kissing him deeply.

They finally parted, breathless, and she smiled. “I didn’t get a chance to see your new lingerie up close, last time,” he reminded her, his voice hoarse with want. His eyes ran over her again, his gaze predatory and hungry for more than just details.

“You stole my knickers,” she reminded him, biting her lip. “I need those back, by the way.”

“You’ve no evidence,” he teased, and then she had to laugh because his eyes were so warm, and his voice so sweet. “I still disapprove of your absence,” he continued, his hand back to stroking over her, this time dipping over the cups of her bra, down into the valley between her breasts, making her suck in her breath at the sensation. “But I approve of Parisian lingerie.”

She giggled at that, taken aback by his apparent ease, given how unhappy he had been at the revelation the first time around. He was trying, this time, where he hadn’t before. Trying to accept what had happened between them, the realities of her time away, and move forward.

“I’m at a disadvantage here,” she said, and made to push his shirt down off his shoulders. He paused for a moment, as if he’d keep it on and hide himself from her, and she glared at him. If he was allowed to examine her, then he had to allow her the same courtesy. The shirt hit the floor, and Belle’s palms swept approvingly over his chest, her nails scratching over the sparse hair, mapping the new softness of his belly. “Raising a child agrees with you,” she told him, her lower lip between her teeth as she looked up at him. “You look less like a hateful skeleton now. More like a human who intends to live past fifty.”

“Hateful skeleton?” he raised an eyebrow, and she raised him one in return, leaning back to look him fully in the eye.

“You disagree?” she retorted. He shook his head, as if trying to hide that he was smiling.

“No, it’s apt,” he agreed, tilting his head to one side. “And very evocative.”

“Why, thank you,” she laughed, and did a little mock curtsey, feeling somewhat ridiculous in her heels and underwear. He at least had the dignity of trousers. When she came back up, his eyes had that predatory look in them again, this time fixated on her breasts. In leaning down, she realised, she’d presented him with the best view in the house. “Cam?”

“Were I less worried about injury, I’d ask you to leave the heels on,” he murmured, and she wondered if he meant her to hear that. “They’re… alarmingly alluring when coupled with the lingerie.”

“Some things don’t change, apparently,” she snickered. “I still remember how you were about the little silver shoes.”

“I had such inappropriate dreams about you in those shoes,” he sighed, wistfully. “You just looked so… dainty and innocent.” Belle laughed.

“And a therapist would have a field day with that, I’m sure,” she rolled her eyes. “But for now I’m sorry, my feet are killing me here.”

She went to sit on the bed, at least giving him the view of her walk across the room in the heels, her hips swaying. She turned back to him to sit on the bed and saw him watching her. His lips were parted, his eyes wide and dazed. The clatter of one heel and then the other thrown to the floor seemed to wake him, because moments later he was across the room, cane be damned, and had her pressed back on the mattress, kissing her like his life depended on it.

Belle sighed and wriggled beneath him. He was pressed flush to her, braced on his bent knee and his elbows on either side of his head, and she could feel the effect she was having on him pressed against her stomach. She kissed him back, wrapping her legs around his waist so she could haul him closer, grinding against him through her underwear and his slacks.

She gasped as his mouth finally slipped from hers and he kissed his way across her cheek, down her neck, pausing at the juncture of throat and shoulder to breathe deeply. She held him closer, her arms around his shoulders, and for just a moment he let her hold him like that, his body held over hers, heavy and real, and his heartbeat wild against her own. Three words, automatic and deadly as a gunshot, sprang to her lips: a force of habit, muscle memory. She swallowed them down and arched her neck, his mouth sucking the skin into his mouth and soothing it with his tongue. From his position at her shoulder, with her head craned back, he could not see the tears rolling from her eyes.

He knew her body so well, and the passage of time clearly hadn’t dulled his memory. He nipped at her sharp collarbone, drawing a gasp from her throat, and lapped at the sensitive skin between her breasts. His mouth met the barrier of her bra, and she pulled him upward gently, so she could rise up on her elbows and he could reach behind and remove it. It ended up on the floor with the rest of their clothing; at least it wouldn’t crease like his suit.

She took the opportunity to wriggle up the bed, lying back between the pillows with her hair fanned out. He followed her as if she held him on a string, but paused for a second over her, braced with his knees straddling her hips, and took her in.

For just a second, Belle could almost see those same three words stuck in his throat. He, too, did not express them, and for a second she had to wonder whether they were pragmatists or cowards.

Then his mouth was on her breasts again, and coherent thought was banished. Every pull of his mouth on her skin, teeth scraping at the undersides, his lips plucking at one taut peak and then the other, sent tugs of heat straight to her core. She writhed beneath him, her fingers tangled in his hair holding him close, and she nearly lost her mind when he sucked her nipple into his mouth and worried it oh-so-gently with his teeth.

“You… remember then…” she gasped, and the vibration of his low chuckle in response sent shivers through her bones.

“Muscle memory, sweetheart,” he replied. “Practice makes perfect.”

She laughed a little at that, her giggles turned to a sharp cry when his fingers suddenly found the wet patch on her knickers and pressed. “There, now,” he murmured, and when she looked up she saw him grinning with hooded eyes, “Are you sure?” he asked, his question at odds with the lazy – entirely artificial – confidence in his eyes.

“Yes,” she replied, without hesitation. She squirmed her hips impatiently, rubbing herself against that still finger, and moaned at the contact. “You still have your pants on, though.”

As she spoke, her hands came to his belt and fiddled with the buckle, and only then did she realise they were shaking. His fingers covered hers, setting her hands back on the bed, and if he noticed her tremors he didn’t comment. He undid his own belt, and then scooted to the end of the bed to take off his pants and fold them over the footboard. He didn’t touch his underwear: he was still self-conscious, it seemed.

When he turned back to her, she saw naked fear in his eyes before he could cover with something else. Something took over her, something old and warm and – she had thought – long since smothered with comforting selfishness; she opened her arms to him, and wordlessly he came to lie beside her, and fell into her embrace.

The tears came to her eyes again despite the insistent heat between her legs, and she hoped to God he wouldn’t see. She cried so often these days, and she hated it, hated the weakness as much as the confusion and the melancholia that hung at the edges of every other feeling. She wanted to stay here forever, and never leave. She wanted to believe he wouldn’t throw her out in the morning, that they wouldn’t ruin it this time; that this could somehow last.

It couldn’t; she knew it couldn’t. It was too much, too fast, and they were too different now to simply pick up where they had left off. And yet there was too much between them, too much knowledge and baggage, emotion and connection, to pretend as if they were strangers and take things slowly.

She kissed his cheek, his shoulder, her hands stroking over his shoulder blades and down his spine. He brought his head up and kissed her again, slow and tender, and when she shifted she felt his erection digging into her hip. They kept kissing, passionately, almost languidly, the desperation and urgency of before lost in something else.

“Tell me what you want, Belle,” he begged against her mouth, and for the life of her she couldn’t tell if he meant now in their old bed, or tomorrow, or in a year, or for the rest of her life. In that moment, every answer seemed to narrow to a single point: _you_ , she thought, _I want you_.

“Please, Cam,” she whimpered into his kiss, “Please.”

A noise somewhere between a growl and a helpless moan came from his lips, and he tore his mouth from hers, nodding frantically as her hands found the waistband of his boxers, and pulled them down his hips. He sat up and pulled them off completely, keeping his eyes on hers to distract from his sudden exposure. Belle did the same: she shimmied out of her knickers, and hoped when she threw them that they’d landed near the rest of her clothing.

He was back on her in a second, his arms bracketing her face as he lined their bodies up. She winked at him as she took his erection in hand, pumping the base of him once, twice, twisting her wrist expertly and hearing him groan. “Muscle memory,” she teased, echoing his words back to him. “Practice.”

Gold had surprised her, diving down to kiss her deeply, plundering her mouth and trapping her hand on his cock between them. She flattened her fingers, releasing him and wriggling free to clutch at his shoulders as he kissed her breathless, leaving her no room but to melt into it. She felt herself tremble all over, desperate for him, needing him inside her and around her and all over her, surrounding her so all she could feel was him.

He finally broke away from her, and began fumbling with single-minded intent in the bedside drawer.

She looked up at him, the soft fall of his long brown hair, the sharp ridge of his jawbone, his soft, swollen lips and the hard lines of his shoulders. He was a study in contradictions, and he was beautiful, and her heart clenched with something she couldn’t – or at least wouldn’t – put a name to.

“You prepared?” she asked, raising an eyebrow when he brandished a condom like a victory.

“I… after our last encounter…” he trailed off, and hung his head. “I suppose I was presumptuous. Hopeful, even.”

“Thank you,” she said, her heart and her voice softening, and she cupped his face, stroking his cheekbone with the side of her thumb. “I… may have hoped too,” she admitted, blushing and hoping she hadn’t revealed too much, her bottom lip once again caught between her teeth. He gave a surprised little laugh.

“Did you now?” he kissed her palm, and she sighed. “I did wonder about the lingerie.”

“My best pair,” she admitted, and then gasped when he pressed his now-protected cock between her folds; she was apparently wetter and more sensitive than she had realised.

“If your underwear matches then you’re up to something,” he winked, and teased her a little further, drawing a whimper from her lips as she bucked and wriggled, trying to get closer, to get him where she wanted him. “I remember.” His voice was hoarse with effort, at odds with his teasing words.

“You know me too well,” she sighed, arching her neck. His mouth found her pulse point again, and sucked gently at her flesh. She would have a mark tomorrow; she found she didn’t care.

“In some ways,” he murmured, and she caught him smiling, his eyes fond, as he took himself in hand and finally lined them up, waiting for her to nod before he slid home.

They both gasped as she felt him fill her, and he drew himself up to cover her, her ankles crossing behind his back and easing him deeper. For a moment they just lay like that: her limbs wrapped around him, his hands framing her face and his cock nestled deeply inside her. For a moment, Belle didn’t want him to ever move, didn’t want a second to pass, and from the look in his eyes he felt it too.

Then he slowly pulled back, and thrust back inside, and a different sort of warmth overtook her, liquid and electric, rushing through her from where they were joined and drawing a low moan from her lips. He continued that pace, slow and deep, far more intimate than a rushed fuck against his sink or in the back of his shop. His eyes on hers felt like he could see right into her soul, and Belle knew that once – not too long ago; yesterday, even – that would have terrified her. Now, she swallowed, and smiled, and hoped that he saw something good. She hoped that, whatever he saw, he understood what it meant: she sure as hell didn’t know anymore.

He kissed her deeply, and Belle shifted her hips in time with his movements, and now it was less like he was thrusting and more like they were rocking together, his cock never withdrawing very far but hitting somewhere deep and wonderful inside her. With his body covering hers his pelvis rubbed her clit on every in-thrust, and the pleasure lapped at her in waves, not desperate now but a slow, deep, burning her through.

Belle didn’t know how long they lay there like that, kissing and rocking together, the heat building and building without ever bursting, without ever breaking the spell: blissful.

Her muscles clenched around him, and the angle changed, and suddenly every thrust was coiling something sharper and his fingers were between them, rolling her clit as he moved. The dam broke inside her and her climax knocked her breathless, roaring through her, making her buck and cry out beneath him, her walls clenching around him in ecstasy.

Gold gave a low groan against her neck, and Belle kissed him messily, muffling the squeals of her aftershocks against his mouth. He stiffened, his hips jerking once, twice, and she felt him release, a sigh that could have been her name lost in her throat.

They lay like that for long seconds, Gold slowly softening inside her as they both breathed heavily, coming down from their high.

Finally, Gold withdrew from her, and he was gone for a moment, dispensing with the condom and – Belle suspected – folding their clothes. She heard the tap run in the bathroom. Her sweat began to cool on her skin, and Belle scrambled beneath the covers for warmth. He still had the same soft mattress, the same expensive feather-down quilt, even if these burgundy sheets were new.

When he returned, she heard the floorboards creek beneath his feet as he paused, and felt his eyes on her from across the room. For a moment she wondered why he didn’t just join her, then she remembered: he hadn’t actually invited her to stay over.

“I… is this okay?” she asked, sitting up and holding the blanket to her chest in a now-useless protection of modesty. He had put on pyjama pants, but no shirt yet. He looked even more gorgeous than he did naked, somehow, all rumpled and domestic, ready for bed. “Me staying, I mean?”

“I just wanted to give you a chance to go,” he said, and she couldn’t decipher his tone: not angry or upset, not confused, but not happy, either. It was a combination of all four, and Belle wondered how it was that he got in his own head so easily, that he could turn such a sweet experience sour so fast. “If you wanted to, I mean.”

“Can I stay?” she asked, biting her lip. She saw his eyes zero in on that, and wondered how she had never noticed before how fixated he was on that unconscious habit. “Please?”

“Of course,” he smiled, and his body relaxed. He padded back to the bed and slipped between the sheets.

“I should have brought an overnight bag,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair as he lay close to her, his arm carefully coming to rest across her abdomen. She used her other hand to hold it close, to show him he was welcome. “My breath will be terrible in the morning.”

“Bae’s forever losing his toothbrush,” Gold told her, his voice low and drowsy. “We have plenty of clean spares.”

“Thank you.” Belle smiled, and snuggled close, curling on her side so he could spoon up behind her. His hand on her stomach, his legs matched perfectly behind hers, the length of his body pressed against her, made Belle feel safer and warmer than she had in years. Than she had, in fact, since the last time she had lain in this bed with him, curled up just like this, back when she had a nightdress on hand in case Bae woke in the night.

Gold’s breath turned rhythmic quickly, and his arm tightened around her, pulling her close as his face buried in the soft mass of her hair. Belle closed her eyes, and tried to follow him into sleep.

\---

_Belle couldn’t sleep._

_She’d been tossing and turning for hours, trying to relax enough to drop off, trying not to think about anything but Cam’s breathing, and his arm around her, and the quiet stillness of the night. Bae was sleeping through the night – he was two and a half, more a child than a baby now, after all – so there was no need for her to feel as if she needed to be on call. And there was no excuse for her sleeplessness._

_Will was leaving town in three weeks._

_Will was leaving town, and he’d called just hours ago and invited her with him, and somehow, despite knowing she could leave whenever she wanted and she didn’t need an invitation, Belle felt herself approaching a very, very steep cliff._

_If she didn’t leave now, with a friend and a plan and easily enough money in the bank, she never would. She was twenty-five, old enough to fend for herself but young enough to still fly free. The cliff loomed: Belle wondered if she was brave enough to jump, or whether someone would hold her back from the edge, tell her it was foolish, strip her wings and bring her home._

_She turned in Cam’s arms and looked down at his face, the hard planes and pained lines made soft and smooth in sleep. Her heart clenched with love for him; her stomach clenched with anxiety for all that that meant._

_For just a moment, Belle felt like she had a vision into the future. She saw herself, exactly as she was now, but thirty now and still wrapped in his arms, still living in this house, Bae’s mother in all but blood, a ring on her finger tying her to Cam in every way that mattered. She would never have left Storybrooke – oh, two weeks here and there when Bae was off from school, a weekend break to New York or Montreal when Cam could close the shop, but nothing big, nothing adventurous, nothing without a return ticket and limited hours. Her mother’s memory would rest uneasy, dreams unfulfilled, promises broken._

_She would break his heart, she thought, tracing the lines of his face with her eyes. She would pull away, resent him; she would hurt him. He would always know she sacrificed her dreams for him, and so would she. And somewhere deep inside, somewhere painful and important, she knew she would grow to hate him a little for that. Not enough to leave, but enough to slowly burn this life down around them._

_Belle shifted onto her back and stared at the ceiling, wondering at how the world could shift so violently and yet everything could look exactly the same._

_She would tell him tomorrow, she thought. She would tell him tomorrow and maybe they could work it out. Maybe he would agree, and let her go with his blessing. Maybe he would even agree to come with her, and they could travel the world as a family. Maybe she would be strong enough to resist him if he begged her to stay. Maybe, maybe, maybe._

_Belle turned on her side, closed her eyes, and tried to sleep._

\---

Belle turned in Gold’s arms, and smiled to see his face slack and peaceful in sleep. She could not deny it this time: her heart swelled with love for him, love that had never gone away, however she’d tried to deny it. Whatever happened next, that much would remain true. She wanted to be here, with him. The life she had once imagined so empty and so terrifying now seemed peaceful, warm and good, and Belle held her breath, closed her eyes, and hoped to any God who was listening that Gold felt the same way. That somehow they had come through the storm whole and in tact, and could find some peace now.


	21. The Eye of the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! More happy fluff! Because we've all earned a break...

When Gold awoke, he was dismayed to find the bed next to him empty. He fumbled out with one hand, patting the warm place where Belle had lain, and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. It was over, then. She had changed her mind, as she was ever wont to do, and he’d once again been the fool to believe anything different.

Not that she’d made any promises, of course. But she had said she was staying in town, and it had seemed – although perhaps only to him, the king of wishful thinking – that something profound had changed between them.

“Hey,” he heard her low voice, and he rolled back on his side to sit upright in bed. She was in the doorway, wrapped in one of his shirts. She must have rummaged through the wardrobe, for it was her favourite blue paisley, not the burgundy he’d worn that evening.

That shirt belonged more to her than it did to him, for she had worn it far more than he ever had, and certainly wore it better. The dark ends brushed against her smooth, pale thighs, and she’d not buttoned it to the top, only enough to preserve her modesty. She was beautiful in the dark, lit only by the moonlight coming in from the window. He always remembered her cast in the golden glow of the lamps Bae had favoured as a baby, all soft and warm and wholesome. In the cool silver and shadows she resembled an altogether different creature: wild, hard, mysterious and knowing.

His heart pounded in his chest, conflicted and excited by the twin urges, both to turn on the light and return the woman he recognised, and to watch to see what this wildling would do next. She regarded him in silence, her eyes hidden and unknowable in the shadow.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, at last. “Couldn’t you sleep?”

She shook her head, her hair falling over her face, and he knew if he were to cross the floor and brush it back he’d find that lower lip of hers caught again between her teeth. “Too worked up I suppose,” she admitted. Some of her wilderness fell away as her shoulders dropped, and she suddenly looked small and sad. “And I forgot something earlier.”

“Oh?”

She nodded, and he saw now that she was fiddling with something in her hands, turning it over in her fingers. He waited her out, not speaking until she was ready.

“I got this for you,” she said at last, holding the thing up. He squinted, unable to see in the dark, and finally turned on his beside lamp. She held the object up again so he could see it: a braided leather bracelet, held between her slender fingers. “It’s not much but…”

“Can I see it?” he asked, his throat hoarse, and she nodded, coming closer on hesitant feet until she was within arm’s reach, holding out the bracelet for him to take. It was fine leather, he could tell that immediately, butter-soft and woven in a tight, uniform pattern. The strands came together in a thick gold clasp, and turning it over he found the Florentine fleur-de-lis stamped on the back.

“Why?” he asked, bewildered. “I thought you only bought things for Bae.”

“Mostly,” she admitted, with a rueful smile. “I knew one day I’d want to come back and find him, somewhere deep down I was always sure of that. But you… well, I can’t say the way we’ve acted these past months came as a surprise.”

He gave a soft snort at that, shaking his head, still marvelling at the simple thing held in his hand. “No,” he agreed. “I can’t say it did either.”

“Remembering you hurt too much, most of the time,” she said. “And so I learned not to remember at all, if I could help it. _Carpe diem_.” She shrugged, and then sighed, her eyes resting on the bracelet and avoiding his own. “I adapted,” she said. “But it took time, and those first few months... God, Cam, those first few months almost broke me. I was all by myself.”

“What about Will?” he asked, for the first time wishing she would confirm the young man’s presence rather than deny it. The thought of her wandering the great wide world alone, miserable and homesick, was all but unbearable.

“I left Will in Newcastle after less than a month,” she said. “I tried to be who you thought I was. I tried to be with him. But I didn’t love him, and he knew that. So he stayed there and I kept on alone. I went to London, first. I haven’t been back since, too many bad memories. From there I got on the train under the Channel, down through France, and I was on my way to Rome.”

“Still alone?” he asked. She nodded.

“All by myself,” she agreed. “And a few years later, I learned how to enjoy that. But those first few months… God, I’ve never been so lonely.”

“I’m sorry, Belle,” he said, and her hand somehow found his, small and warm. He squeezed hard in sympathy, and she smiled.

“You don’t have to be,” she said. “I chose it. This was what I wanted, after all, right? Which is what made it so hard, I guess. I had what I wanted but I didn’t want it anymore, because freedom seemed to mean isolation and I couldn’t enjoy the amazing things I was seeing. So, I figured I would go to Rome, and then home to Melbourne. And if I got there and I still regretted leaving Storybrooke, then I would call you. I’d call and apologise, admit my mistake, and beg you to let me come home.”

“What changed?” he asked, his heart racing as he imagined how close she had been to coming back, and equally how much good he could have done by contacting her. Ruby Lucas would have had her number, if no one else. He could have called and worked things through. If only he had reached out, everything might have been different. But then, neither had she.

“To get to Melbourne, I had to have a two day layover in Dubai. On the flight out from Rome I met Mulan, and by the time we landed we were best friends. I cancelled my flight to Melbourne, changed it to a flight to Beijing with her, and that was that. Everything got better from then: she introduced me to a whole network of nomads like us, and suddenly travelling was as fun as I’d imagined.”

“So this bracelet is a souvenir from Dubai airport?” he asked, eyebrow raised. “How touching.”

“No,” she said. “No, I… I bought that before I got to Rome, in Florence. See the stamp?” she pointed to the mark on the clasp with a fingertip. “I had to stop in Florence for a day on the train on my way through, and they have these amazing leather markets. This was the first souvenir I bought; everything for Bae came after.” She stroked her finger over the leather, her skin just brushing his every now and then. “I bought this the day I made my plan,” she said. “I saw it and I thought you would like it, somehow, although I’ve never seen you wear anything like it. I figured I would buy it, and then if I ended up coming home it’d be a peace offering. I didn’t want to come back empty-handed.”

“But you didn’t come home,” he pointed out. “Why keep it?”

“I didn’t have anything of yours,” she shrugged. “You had a box. I had that.”

He nodded, lost for words. It was such a little thing, and yet it seemed to carry the world on its back. She had almost come home. He remembered those first months, too, how hard it was without her; how everything he saw had reminded him of her. But he had had Bae, and his routine, and his life changed little but for the Belle-shaped hole in it. And it had been soon after, a bare month or two, before Mary Margaret Nolan had gone back to work at the elementary school, and Emma had started at Bae’s day-care.

Gold wasn’t overly fond of the Nolans as individuals, but he had to admit that that slender social contact, and the babysitting that had begun upon their children’s fast friendship, had been invaluable. He supposed in some strange way they had done for him what Mulan Fa had done for Belle, and filled the void their separation had left in his life.

She had thought of him, though. She had seen this a whole world away and thought of him, and kept it all that time as a reminder. It was tangible, physical proof of everything she had said before, and his heart swelled in his chest.

“Do you like it?” She asked. He nodded.

“It’s beautiful,” he told her. “Thank you, Belle.”

“You’re welcome,” she beamed, a beautiful thing to behold, and he had to pull her in again, to kiss her breathless. He pulled her down over him and she braced herself on her knee, sagging her weight against him as she fell down to his side. His hand undid the buttons of her shirt as he continued to plunder her mouth, trying to pour his heart into the kiss rather than trying to say the words aloud.

She pushed him up to take off the shirt, and tossed it aside. Gold barely noticed, too caught up in the image of her beneath him, her skin golden in the lamplight, glowing. He placed the bracelet reverently on the bedside table before returning to her, kissing her mouth again before moving down to her neck, leaving another mark, the twin of the one on her pulse point, on the other side. He kissed her breasts, her sternum, the hollow of her belly and each sharp hipbone as he worked his way down her body. Belle sighed, her neck arched back as she shifted her thighs apart for him, welcoming him home.

She still smelled incredible. He kissed her inner thighs, working his way up to her core, and he grinned against her skin as she wriggled impatiently, her fingers carding through his hair. “Please, Cam,” she moaned, and he was lost.

He kissed her slowly, dragging his lips over her wet folds and drawing out her clit with his tongue. He lapped at her in long, broad strokes that he knew from experience would send her head spinning, and then sucked on her clit while one finger worked inside, spreading her fluids and making her hips jump. He knew just how to drag her up to that peak, how she preferred two fingers crooked inside her and just a hint of teeth against her nub, how to alternate between swirling his tongue and sucking and those broad laps to make her moan higher, and higher, drinking her down as she grew wetter and wetter. He sucked hard and stroked her inner walls, and she finally gasped aloud and came with her hands clawing at his hair.

He licked his lips as he pulled away from her, her hands relaxing absently petting him as she gasped. He kept stroking her with his wet fingers as she came down from her high, coaxing aftershocks from her, her eyes still squeezed shut.

“Muscle memory?” she panted, grinning as her eyes opened. He winked.

“Like riding a bike.”

She dragged him back up to her, and kissed the evidence of her orgasm from his lips, making him groan into her mouth. He was achingly hard against her thigh, and only really noticed when her hand enclosed around him, stroking him slowly, twisting her wrist again. He had no idea how something so simple could feel so good, but he groaned and she laughed into their kiss. She shifted onto her side, her strength returning as he yielded to her and subsided onto his back.

Perhaps this was why he’d never brought another woman home after she left, he thought. He’d never felt this intimate, this in sync, with anyone else, and he couldn’t imagine settling for less.

The thought was humbling, and when she broke away from him he raised a hand to cup her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Her hair fell across her face and he brushed it aside, gathering it over one shoulder and running his hand through it. “I would have thought you’d have cut it,” he murmured, lost in his own thoughts. “Your hair, I mean. It can’t have been easy to maintain without a steady routine.”

She shrugged, “I don’t think I’d feel right with short hair. I’ve always had it long. Why? Do you think I should?”

“No!” he shook his head, and her eyebrows rose high at his outburst, her hand stilling on his cock. “No, it’s beautiful,” he sighed. “ _You’re_ beautiful.”

She didn’t reply to that. Instead, she leaned down and kissed him again, gentle and sweet. She moved to straddle him, and he brought his hands to her hair again, spreading it out so it hung down around them both. Her wet folds slid against his cock and he grunted and thrust up against her, and heard her sigh with pleasure.

“I should get another…” he reached for the bedside cabinet, but she stopped him, her hand on his wrist.

“I’ve got an implant,” she reminded him. “I… neither of us has anything, right? I mean I’ve been tested. So it’s okay. I… I trust you.”

He nodded, his eyes wide at the memory of her around him without the latex in the way, and at her words. She trusted him. Somehow, by some unaccountable turn of fortune, he had managed to earn back her trust. And, he realised, somewhere along the way she had done the same. Whether it was the leather bracelet on the bedside table, or the Bae’s box downstairs, or every word she’d said since she came home, he didn’t know, but he did.

His mind turned guiltily to the offer still hidden in his desk, the lie he still held over her as insurance against her betrayal. He would tell her in the morning; he _had_ to, however much the thought of ceding that last element of control frightened him. If there was any hope for them to build on this, whatever it was that still rested warm and heavy between them, then it had to start with honesty.

“I trust you, too,” he told her, and she kissed him to hide the tears in her eyes he knew she hoped he hadn’t seen.

She lined them up, and slid down on him in one smooth thrust, dragging a groan from his throat. Belle rode him slowly, taking him deep inside her, and Gold soon lost his capacity for rational thought as she squeezed her inner walls around him. She was so hot and tight and wet around him, and she moaned on every in-stroke, her eyes closed and lips parted in rapture.

He took hold of her hips and began to meet her thrust for thrust, striving to bury himself so deep in her wonders that he would never have to part from her again.

Belle’s hand reached between them to rub above where they were joined, and he brushed her fingers out of the way, replacing them with his own. He pinched and rolled her clit between his fingers, spreading her moisture and working her in time with their thrusts, until he felt her spasm around him and fall apart, kissing him messily to muffle her cries in his mouth. Her inner walls clenched and throbbed around him, and as she shook in the aftershock Gold felt his own climax take hold, dragging him over that edge after her. He released inside her with a long, low groan, and she kissed and mouthed at his neck as he came down, panting hard.

He felt sleep already tugging at his consciousness, and as he softened inside her he regretfully pulled out. Belle rolled onto her side, her arm slung across his chest, but Gold had one more thing he needed to do before he allowed sleep to claim him. He reached for the bedside table, and picked up the bracelet. It was too small to just slide on, but Belle’s small, pale hands came up to help him. She released the clasp and sealed the band around his wrist, readjusting it so it would stay. She smiled up at him, warm and sated, and used her grip on his wrist to pull him in for one more soft, loose-lipped kiss.

Gold fell asleep with Belle’s head pillowed on his chest, and his arms around her back, holding her tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Belle makes a discovery, and reality crashes in


	22. Kookaburra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm just... yeah, sorry guys.

_“He said fucking what?”_

_Will’s hands clench into fists at his sides, as Belle tries to calm him. It’s impossible. She’s furious too. So is Moe, standing in the doorway looking murderous, but his hatred is levelled at his daughter._

_“You heard me,” Moe growls, “he told me ‘bout you two, my girl. Told me how you’ve been making up your savings.”_

_“I’ve been babys-“_

_“Don’t lie to me!” Moe roars. “He said you’re his whore, Belle, and it all makes perfect sense. I won’t have a girl like that under my roof!”_

_“Papa!” Belle’s hands fly to her mouth, her stomach lurching, a knot forming in her throat even as the rage churns in her gut. Only some of it is for her father: she’d known this would be his reaction if he found it. Most of it, the bulk of it, is for Cam. Cam, who’s hurt pride lead him to this. Cam, who seems not to give a damn about her if he can’t have her in his bed. Cam, who’s heart she might have broken beyond repair. It isn’t an excuse. “You can’t just believe him!”_

_“You’re to go,” Moe says again, implacably, while Will’s hands clench at his sides, useless. Moe turns to Will, “I can’t believe you’re willing to put up with this either, boy.”_

_“Mr Gold is a monster,” Will responds, and for the first time Belle doesn’t step in to defend him. He told her father, ruined their tentative relationship. Now she’s being thrown out of her home because of him. Let Will say what he likes, for all the words land as cold, sickening blows to her stomach. “I don’t believe a word he says, nor should you.”_

_“I don’t give a damn who she spreads her legs for.” Moe snarls, his cheeks darkening from red to purple with rage. There is no compassion left in his eyes, no love. He looks at her with such loathing, such contempt, that it breaks her heart. “She’s pissed off the most powerful man in town, and I’m not living with the consequences.”_

_“Papa no!” Belle cries, “Please, papa, you can’t do this. I’m your daughter!”_

_“You should have thought of that before you slept with that monster,” he snarls back. His fist sails through the air, but Will grabs his arm before it can connect with Belle’s face._

_“I didn’t just sleep with him,” Belle begs, as if this can do any good now, as if he will care. “I love him, papa, even if it’s over now. Can’t you understand that? I didn’t betray you for money, I fell in love!”_

_Moe’s roar is like thunder, his face a terrible shade of umber, his mouth a thick, solid line. “I don’t know what sort of spell he put you under, my girl, but I won’t live with it under my roof!”_

_“Papa!” Tears course openly down Belle’s face, her hands clasped to her mouth as his face grows redder and redder, angrier and angrier, her only family throwing her out of her home, slamming the door in her face. Gold has taken everything from her: her heart, Bae, and now even her father. “You monster!” she screams. “I hate you, I hate you I-“_

_Then Moe’s expression changes, anger turning to horror, and his hand clutches at his chest. “Papa!” Belle screams, as Moe collapses to his knees, gasping and retching._

_“Belle…” he groans, his face not red but purple, his breath ending in a long, slow gasp as his upper body crashes to the floor, and he lies silent, still, lifeless._

_“Papa!”_

Belle awakened with a start in a cold sweat, a hand clasped to her mouth in horror.

The nightmares were infrequent, but when they came they were horrifying, and always left her disoriented and miserable. She hoped she hadn’t cried out: she would wake Mulan, and then Mulan would watch over her like a hawk for the next few days.

She looked down: the body in the bed beside her wasn’t Mulan, but Cam. The memory of the night before returned in a rush.

She’d chosen to be here, she remembered; things were better now. He’d been so gentle with her, so kind and sweet. They’d somehow managed to rediscover the intimacy she’d thought long since burned and destroyed between them, and Belle felt herself relax a little, the good memories beginning to crowd out the nightmare.

It was just before dawn, the sky on the horizon a very pale blue, and Belle knew she’d never get back to sleep now. She looked down at Gold again, wondering how such a wonderful night could inspire such terrible dreams.

The answer was obvious, of course: because she had felt this way before, and it had ended up destroying her relationship with her father. All of this had happened before. Belle felt her stomach lurch: she mapped her route in her mind, standing and dressing, finding her coat and shoes at the door, walking the ten blocks to Game of Thorns and finding her father alive and humming to himself in the garden. She imagined smiling at him, telling him what she never had: that she was in love, that she had found a man she wanted to be with forever and adored his son like her own. He would be worried for her, if she told him the truth: perhaps he would even shout, but she would listen. She would explain, as many times as he needed to hear it, that she loved him and that she wasn’t leaving his family for another, but making a new one, big enough to fit everyone she loved. That she would never lie or keep secrets.

But Moe was dead. Moe was dead, and the last thing she’d said to him was that she’d hated him, because of the machinations of the man now lying beside her. Because she hadn’t wanted to commit to Gold, and in so doing start a prolonged fight with her father. Because she couldn’t have lied to either one by promising never to leave: not while she was busy planning her way out of town.

Now, she knew that she could do just that: she could make promises, put down roots, tell the truth and face the consequences. But now it was too late. The irony was bitter in the back of her mouth.

She shook her head. Gold had done what he’d done out of anger, but it had been Moe’s choice to fly off the handle. All Gold had done was tell a distorted truth, for god knows what purpose, but Moe had chosen to believe him over his own daughter. And it was Moe who had made it clear she wasn’t to come back, even to say goodbye. It wasn’t Gold’s fault, not really. He hadn’t forced Moe to throw her out, and five years of self-imposed exile, of silence, could not be laid at his door.

She rose to her feet, and decided to go and look in on Bae. Whatever her history with Gold, Bae was innocent in this. Maybe with him she could reclaim the solid ground that the nightmare had ripped from under her.

Belle put her dress back on, dressing quickly; she didn’t want to be caught in just his father’s shirt should Bae wake up. It was colder this morning than it had been the night before, and she felt gooseflesh rise on her arms as she padded on bare feet from Gold’s bedroom, and down the hall to Bae’s.

It was strange in the extreme to creak that door open, as she had a thousand times before, and see an eight-year-old boy, his dark curls wild against his pillow, eyes peacefully closed with his limbs wrapped around a stuffed crocodile, his face angelic in sleep. Some part of her had expected to see that ornate wooden crib with a baby asleep inside, tufty hair peeping on the top of his head, small enough to fit in her arms. She loved the boy he had become with all her heart, but for a moment Belle stood there and let her heart ache for that baby who had almost been hers, with his huge beaming smile and his gurgling laugh. She would never see that baby again, and she felt tears roll down her cheeks at the loss.

“ _Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree-ee_ ,” she sung, under her breath. “ _Very merry king of the bush is he-ee. Laugh, kookaburra laugh, kookaburra gay your life must be_.”

She shook her head at her foolishness, a lump rising in her throat as she brushed her tears aside with her hand. She took a deep breath, and closed the door again before she woke Bae. A thought, unbidden and terrible, crossed her mind: had Moe felt like this, knowing she was leaving without saying goodbye, and that she never planned to come back? Had he looked at her and missed, deep in his soul, a baby who had loved him and smiled and seen no wrong, who would fit in his arms and cuddle in close? Could his anger have been born, however misguidedly, from looking for that child and seeing a stranger, a rebellious young woman seeking the fastest route away from him?

Belle shoved the notion aside, unable to look it in the face.

Her eyes scanned the hallway, desperate for a distraction, and saw the door to Gold’s study, open enough to see inside. Belle was at the door without a second thought, pushing it open and slipping inside without thinking to close it behind her. He would never let her snoop around there normally, but he was fast asleep, and there were documents in here that could answer questions for her that she didn’t want to trouble him with.

It suddenly seemed imperative she resolve the issues around Game of Thorns immediately, and put her whole mind to bear on it, thinking of nothing else. Thinking about her relationship with Gold, about Bae, or about her plans for the future all lead her back to that heavy, aching regret. The legal and financial details of her inheritance seemed a safe space by comparison.

She started with the files open on his desk, but all she found were rent records and some documents about an extension to the Nolans’ house. It seemed Gold had slashed their rent considerably, which brought a smile to Belle’s face. He played the monster so well, but then he turned around and did something like this. He rewarded loyalty, and honesty, even if he pretended to have no faith in either.

A few more minutes only unearthed the most meticulous financial records Belle had ever seen, and a couple of Bae’s drawings from school that made her heart clench. She had almost given up hope when she saw the bottom drawer slightly ajar, and pulled it open to reveal a row of files in alphabetical order, thicker than his rent records. She leafed through to ‘F’, for French, and pulled out the corresponding file. It was thick, and Belle rolled her eyes, wondering if she was about to find middle school report cards and stalker photos in with the paperwork.

The thought occurred that she could find the document in here proving his sale of the property to her father. It would satisfy the niggling curiosity in her mind that she didn’t know how she’d come to inherit it in the first place, and it would make her feel more comfortable agreeing to sell to someone whose name she didn’t even know. With a goal thus in mind, she opened the file.

Inside, on the top layer, there was a letter from her estate agents. Belle barely spared it a glance, scanning over the lines quickly before moving on to the next one, an almost identical sheet. She frowned: why would there be two confirmations of his offer on the shop?

She flipped back to the first letter, and only then did she notice that the letter wasn’t addressed to Gold, but to a dummy PO box on the other side of town, and his name was nowhere mentioned. She read more closely this time, and on a third reading, her eyes landed on the figure, far higher than what he had offered and she had rejected.

The exact figure, in fact, of the anonymous offer placed on the shop a few weeks ago, just after she had officially rejected him.

Belle’s hands shook as she held the papers, the file slipping off her knee as she let go of it, the papers spilling across the floor. “You bastard,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks hot and fast, “You absolute bastard.”

She had trusted him. Idiot that she was, she had looked in his eyes and trusted him, and told him so just hours ago. He’d fooled her again, with his reasonable words and his kind eyes and all that history and those warm memories rising between them. He had fooled her, and she had forgotten who he really was. He was that gentle, kind man he’d been last night, but he was also a possessive, untrusting, deceitful monster, and she had been an idiot to forget that for even a second. She was a fool to think he ever could have changed.

Belle rose to her feet, bile rising in her throat, and at that very moment heard the sound of floorboards creaking, and the door opening, and she whirled to see him leaning in the doorway, his eyebrows drawn.

“Belle?” he said, slowly. “I woke up and you were gone. What… what are you doing in my study?”

“What is this?” she demanded, brandishing the letter, and he had the decency to look ashamed of himself, for all his obvious irritation.

“That is a private document, in my private study,” he told her, his face hardening, his teeth clenched. “I suggest you put it back where it came from.”

“You placed the anonymous offer,” she accused, her voice trembling, her misery overtaken by a terrible fury. She kept her voice low, hushed, aware of Bae asleep only a few rooms away. “It was you all along. I told you I didn’t want to sell to you so you tried to trick me into it instead!”

“Belle, I can explain-“ he held up a hand, but she cut him off before he could say another traitorous word.

“I didn’t want to sell my father’s home to a man he hated!” she said. “I didn’t want our emotional mess to be complicated with a load of money and property and debt! I wanted to keep those two things separate and you couldn’t respect my wishes for even a _moment_!”

“Just for the sake of argument, you would rather be ripped off and cheated out of your inheritance by Regina Mills than allow me to take the place back?” he asked.

“I’d rather the man I’m sleeping with didn’t lie to me and trick me into the one thing I demanded not to do,” she replied, and she saw his defence wavering, saw him understand the depth of what he’d done. “I’d rather you respect me enough to make my own damn decisions and tell me the _fucking_ truth rather than sneaking behind my back!”

“I was trying to protect you-“

“Bullshit,” she spat. “You were trying to protect yourself. You were trying to make sure you didn’t lose out again when I left town; that you wouldn’t be left high and dry twice. You were trying to cheat me out of the one thing my father left me that was worth a damn, and don’t you dare try and tell me it was for my benefit.”

He was silent for a long moment as Belle breathed hard, trying to gain control of her anger before she said something she’d regret.

“You’re right,” he said, at last, catching her off guard. “I did want some insurance. I wanted to know when you’d made up your mind, and I wanted the property back in my possession. But I was going to cancel it tomorrow,” he added, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “I was going to tell you this morning, I swear, I-“

“How could you?” she cut him off. “You were so angry at me for _abandoning_ you, and then just when I think we’re getting somewhere, when I think we might be able to forgive one another, you turn around and pull something like this! How the hell am I ever supposed to trust you?”

“But you already don’t,” he said, spreading his hands. He looked so much more human in his t-shirt and pyjama pants, braced on his cane with his rumpled hair, and yet in that moment he could have been in his full three-piece suit, cold and implacable. “You went rooting through my private study seeking answers you didn’t trust me to provide myself. I turn my back for a moment, and you’re invading my privacy. So I have to ask the same of you: how am I supposed to trust your word, when the moment I fall asleep you’re rifling through my personal files?”

“You’re really asking me that?” she scoffed. “I’m holding the proof of your lie in my hand, and you’re honestly trying to make this about _my_ trust issues?”

“You could have asked me,” he reminded her. “If you doubted me. We already agreed to discuss everything in the morning, and I had every intention of following through.”

“And you would have told me?” she demanded. He nodded, and she wanted so badly to believe him.

“I tried to last night,” he said. “But then one thing lead to another, and you begged me not to. We agreed to discuss everything today.”

“I thought you meant about your ex-wife leaving you or Will or… or something long in the past!” she hissed back. “I didn’t think it was something this recent, and you knew that! You should have told me anyway, you… you lied to me, all this time,” she said. “You were lying to me that night in the shop, and in the library, and at Bae’s birthday… you were talking to me about not running away, all the while holding this behind your back!”

“What do you want from me, Belle?” he asked, helplessly. She hated that he seemed so helpless now: she needed him to be Mr Gold, pawnbroker and loan shark, all anger and icy, biting words; she needed him to be a villain she could hate. She felt herself begin to cry, her hands trembling, and she hated that too. How could he always find a way to ruin things?

“I want the truth,” she said. “I want you to tell me the goddamn truth, Cam. Like you promised you would last night.”

He gave her a long, steady look, and a moment later he seemed to come to some decision. His shoulders slumped, and he nodded, gesturing behind her to his desk. “The truth, then,” he said. “The whole truth.”

He passed her, and Belle stepped unconsciously out of his way as he stepped gingerly over the mess she’d made of his floor. He stooped, bracing himself on his cane, and rifled through the papers, retrieving the document he was looking for a moment later. He stood, and slowly returned to her. Dread settled in the pit of Belle’s stomach, certain now that more bad news was forthcoming.

“What did you do?” she asked, horrified.

“Something terrible,” he replied, softly. “Something I’m sure you’ll never be able to forgive. But you want the truth, and I owe you that much, so here it is.”

“You sold the house for a thousand dollars?” she murmured, unable to comprehend what she was reading, wondering how this was his big unforgiveable thing. She blinked up in confusion, “Why? It’s worth a hundred times that at least.”

“I sold it for a thousand dollars,” he confirmed. “And the promise that the next several months’ rent saved would be paid directly to you, to pay for your travel, and that he would ensure you used it for such immediately. When he did not immediately consent, as I’m sure you have guessed already, then I told him the truth of our relationship. When that did not sway him to let you go, pulled out my gun. They were cards that, at the time, I was willing to play.”

“He almost beat me, that night,” Belle murmured, her lips numb. “He would have, if Will hadn’t been there to stop him. When the money came through, he told me it was back wages… he said our debts were cleared, and he had no need for me anymore. He hurled me into the street.”

“What he said was his own decision,” Gold said, a rehearsed defence he neither believed nor expected her to accept. Belle caught the anguish in his eyes. His guilt only made her angrier: if he regretted it, then why the hell was she only hearing about it now? “I only told him what he had to do in order to own his shop. I never swore him to secrecy, and I didn’t think… I didn’t think he would hurt you. I thought the promise of owning the shop would keep him honest. I was a fool, it seems.”

“He threw me out,” she said, unable to think, move, or even breathe. “He threw me out and never spoke to me again… because you _paid_ him to? The money he gave me… that was yours. You paid him to hate me and then… you paid me to leave.”

“I didn’t tell him to throw you out,” Gold pleaded, his eyes beseeching, begging her to believe him. She was in shock, she realised: that was why she wasn’t crying or screaming or murdering him with his own wavy, dagger-shaped letter opener.

“I knew you told him because you wanted to get back at me, I thought you were hurting and out of your mind but this… this was ice cold. This was _premeditated_. You drew up documents and paid him to hate me, _paid_ to have me gone… you hated me _that much_ , just for leaving you?”

He looked at her for a long moment, and Belle desperately hoped he was going to say something to exonerate himself, reveal some truth that would change everything. She didn’t want to hate him, she didn’t want to look at him and see a beast that had destroyed her relationship with her father out of spite. A creature that had then tricked her into reconciliation, into trusting him again, to manipulate her out of everything she had left. She couldn’t bear the sight of him. She wanted to see the warm, gentle man who had held her so tenderly the night before. She wanted to see the man she loved, back from the dead.

But he hung his head, and he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yes,” he admitted. “I told him to motivate him. He asked me why I wanted you gone, and so I told him the truth. I didn’t think he would go so far as to render you homeless, but I knew he would be angry. I wanted to prevent him from standing in your way, since you wouldn’t stay for Bae and me. The thought of you hanging around when you wanted to be gone just… I couldn’t take it. It was the worst thing I have ever done, and I’m _sorry_ , Belle. I'm so sorry.”

“You hated me that much?” she asked again, staggered. Her chest ached, and her stomach felt winded. He could have stabbed her, and it wouldn’t have hurt as much as this. Some small, weak part of her wanted to go back, an hour, two hours, to that comfortable warmth in his bed before she knew the truth.

“One minute I was planning a life with you,” he explained. “The next you were leaving town with your leather-clad boyfriend. I’d been through that before, and I couldn’t stomach it again. So I lashed out. I used my money to try and control the situation. I’ve never been more sorry for anything in my life, I… I was trying to have the last word.”

“Well,” she muttered. “You certainly had that.”

“Belle, I’m….” he took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. What I did was unforgiveable, I know that, but you still have to know. You have to know how sorry I am.”

“It’s not enough,” she said, shaking her head, her hand covering her mouth. “It doesn’t bring him back. He died hating me because of you, and you _paid_ to create that outcome. You paid my father hate me out of spite. ‘Sorry’ isn’t enough.”

She swallowed hard, and stepped gingerly over the mess of papers she’d made on the floor. Belle moved past Gold at the doorway, and he stood aside.

“Belle, I-“

“No,” she hissed, shaking her head and desperately rubbing tears from her eyes. “I need time to think, okay? I need to… I need to go. I need to get out of here.”

She ran down the stairs to the hall, toed on her shoes and pulled on her coat. He was still watching her from the top of the stairs, looking like a man who’d just watched his home burn down around him. She left without a word of goodbye. He didn’t follow her.

The walk back to Granny’s passed in a blur, tearful and freezing. The weather had taken a sharp turn into winter overnight, and a tang in the air spoke of snow on the way. It had clouded over, the sun rising through thick mist, and everything was grey sky and frost.

Belle burst into Granny’s, and the comparative warmth hit her like a wall of heat. She barely noticed the change, or the ring of the bell on the door, announcing her arrival.

“Well,” a familiar voice said coldly. “Someone was out late.”

Belle turned to see Ruby behind the counter, starting the first batch of coffee for the day. She groaned internally: she had intended to slip back in an hour later, when Ruby went for her run once Granny was up. She could sneak in the back to the inn and Mulan would never tell anyone she was gone. Her early arrival had thrown that idea off spectacularly, and she had no plan B.

“I went for a walk?” she said, but it sounded lame to her own ears. Ruby just raised an immaculate eyebrow.

“Please don’t lie to me,” she said. “I walked Mulan back to you guys’ room last night. It was still empty at one a.m., and she was _really_ shifty about it. You gonna tell me where you were, or am I gonna have to guess?”

“I was with an old… friend,” she lied. He wasn’t a friend. He wasn’t even an enemy. He was blight on the landscape, a tornado that sucked in and destroyed everything in his path.

“You were with a guy,” Ruby corrected. “Your make up is smudged, your dress is on backwards, and you’ve been crying.”

Belle rubbed at her face and it came away wet. She hadn’t even felt herself weeping on the walk home, but the evidence spoke for itself.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I have.”

“Belle!” Mulan cried from the door to the Inn. “How was your catch up with Ashley? It must have run late!”

“Ashley?” Ruby scoffed. “The pregnant chick ready to pop any second? You’ve gotta get better at excuses.”

“Why are you so mad?” Belle demanded, her temper flaring at Mulan’s guilty look and Ruby’s condescension. “You’re not my mother. So I stayed out all night, big deal.”

“No, I’m just your best friend who’s desperately worried about you!” Ruby cried. “You look almost _suicidal_ some days, then you come home looking wrecked from a kids’ birthday party where everyone says you had some sort of breakdown-“

“You knew about that?” Belle was stunned: she had forgotten how fast news travelled in Storybrooke.

“Kathryn Nolan thought you might be in some sort of trouble with Mr Gold,” Ruby told her. “She said you seemed fidgety and nervous, then vanished to the bathroom and came out looking all messed up almost half an hour later. Then you just vanished. So yeah, I know about that.”

Belle shot a look to Mulan for help. Mulan looked at Ruby.

“If she doesn’t want to share she doesn’t have to,” she said. “She’s not in any trouble here.”

“Bullshit,” Ruby spat. “Look I know you guys have some sort of sisterhood travelling pack bond bullshit going on, but I’m _your_ girlfriend and _her_ best friend, so one of you has to tell me something!”

“Fine,” Belle sighed. “You want the truth?”

“Yes,” Ruby said, firmly, folding her arms.

“Okay, here you go. In the time I lived here between leaving grad school and going travelling, I was also in a relationship with Mr Gold. We were together for almost two years, and I was in love with him. When I said I was leaving so I could travel, he proposed to try and make me stay. I said no, and he took it badly.”

“No,” Ruby frowned, shaking her head. “No you were dating that Will guy, the one with the buzz cut and the leather jacket. The one Granny didn’t trust around the silverware.”

“My dad hated Gold more than anyone in the world, and would have made life very hard for me if he found out. Will was my cover story. When papa found out he kicked me out of the house, so it turns out I had a good reason to lie.”

“But… you guys broke up, you said,” Ruby said, piecing it together in her head. “So last night…”

“Last night we _briefly_ reconciled, and yes, I stayed the night. I thought things were better with us, and I was gonna tell you if we got back together. But he’s still the lying, manipulative asshole he always was and… and I just…” she felt tears starting to roll down her face as Mulan crossed the diner and hugged her tight, stroking her back as Belle clung on for dear life.

“So you lied to me,” Ruby said. “Both of you. You _both_ lied to me.”

“I lied to everyone,” Belle said, as Mulan pulled away from her, one arm still slung protectively around her shoulders.

“Is this why you’ve been so miserable lately?” Ruby demanded. “Because of him? I thought it was about your dad!”

“Kind of, I mean…” Belle shook her head, her hands covering her face for a moment. “I don’t know! I’ve felt like shit since I came back to town.”

“Is he why you were hiding?” Ruby pressed, “Why you didn’t even call your friends when you came back to town? Because you were fucked up over a _guy_ – over _Mr Gold_?”

“Yes,” Belle admitted. “I… yes. I was hiding from him, and I lied to you. I lied to everyone, Mulan only knows because I met her afterward, when it was all over.”

“You didn’t trust me,” Ruby accused. “You were there when Peter died, and I told you _everything_. I thought we were there for each other, I _trusted_ you, and you couldn’t even tell me you were fucking your boss?”

“I couldn’t tell anyone!”

“You could have told me,” Ruby spat. She rocked back on her heels, folding her arms over her chest, her face hard. “Look, I get it. You guys are best friends; you have your own little secret club, whatever. I guess I don’t figure into that.”

“Ruby-“ Mulan put out an arm toward her but Ruby stepped back, shaking her head.

“Just, forget it, alright?”

“Ruby, please,” Belle begged, but Ruby shook her head. She was about to say something else, when there was a crash from upstairs, and a hoarse cry.

“Granny!” Ruby gasped, her eyes wide with alarm, and the three of them sprinted up the stairs, their fight forgotten.

They reached Granny’s room and found the door shut. Ruby hammered on the surface with her fist, “Granny?” she called, “Granny, open the door! Are you ok?”

There was no response. Belle tried the handle and found it unlocked, the door swinging open to reveal the inside of Granny’s little apartment.

“Oh, god,” Ruby covered her mouth with a shaking hand, stumbling in her heels as Belle and Mulan rushed inside. Belle let out a little cry of alarm, her heart stopping in her chest

Granny was sprawled face down on the floor.

“Granny!” Ruby screamed. She collapsed next to Granny’s body, shaking her shoulder hard. Granny didn’t respond. “Granny, please wake up! _Granny_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Gold injures himself, but finds he's less alone in the world than he believed


	23. Not Alone

Gold stared at the wreckage of his office, breathing hard.

He couldn’t believe it. His mind refused to comprehend how it all could have collapsed so quickly, how he had gone from euphoria to despair in the space of a moment. His head reeled, anger and anguish in equal measure, and he wondered if maybe, if he squeezed his eyes shut hard enough, he could wake up and find her still in bed beside him, safe and warm and happy. Maybe this would all be a terrible nightmare, if only he could go back.

But last night had been the dream. This morning was reality, cold and hard and cruel, the way things really were – screaming matches, accusations, barefaced lies, and slammed doors. His hands were shaking from anger or misery or shock, or a combination of all three, as he gathered the file back together and put it back where it belonged.

He had planned to cancel the offer this very morning, and she would never have known. But even as he thought that, he knew it wouldn’t have been enough. He had been a fool the night before to think she would accept anything less than scrupulous honesty from him. He wanted to find some anger at her in return for rifling through his things, even just for having left in the first place, but found none. This was his fault: this time, he had burned the bridges to ashes.

He wanted to scream, and never stop. He wanted to cry like a broken-hearted child. He wanted to murder someone or break every bone in his body, anything to release the unbearable tension inside of him.

His right hand – the wrist still bearing her bracelet, her gift – clenched into a fist, and he threw all his weight behind it as he slammed it into his heavy oak desk. He breathed hard, pain lancing up his arm, but it felt good to release the tension, to take his agony out on something else, to make the pain corporeal and real. He did it again, and again, and again, a terrible thump and crack accompanying each knock, his hand beginning to ache and throb. A paperweight shook and rolled onto the floor; files and papers jumped with the impact.

Pain radiated through him from his hand, and he knew the noise would wake Bae. Were it not for his son, he knew he’d likely take his cane to the office itself, smashing everything in his path rather than just his right hand.

He had to stop at last, his knuckles bruised and bleeding from the repeated impact. The paperweight had shattered; the blasted French file was still scattered across the floor. He breathed hard, his wild eyes taking in the wreckage of his office. He doubted his cane could have done more damage.

“Papa?” a small voice came from the doorway, and he turned to see Bae stood there, teddy still clutched to his chest, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “I heard a noise.”

“Oh, Bae!” The tension drained from him at once, anger replaced with concern and guilt for having allowed his feelings to disturb his son. Gold rushed across to Bae, ignoring the pain in his leg and the ache in his knuckles as he knelt to look Bae in the eye, taking him by his shoulders. “Oh, it’s okay, not to worry.”

“What happened?” he asked. Gold struggled to think of a response.

“I just dropped something,” he lied, and gestured to the paperweight. “See? Clumsy me.”

“Oh,” Bae nodded. “Okay papa. It’s early,” he whined, and Gold nodded. Bae looked at the hand on his shoulder and frowned. “What happened to your hand?”

“The paperweight fell on it,” he lied again, smoothly and far too readily. He was a liar by practice and by trade. One day, Bae would see that, and he would hate him even more than Belle did. Perhaps even more than Gold hated himself.

“Oh,” Bae frowned. “Does it hurt?”

“Very much,” Gold admitted. “I’ll get a bandage.”

“It’s very early, papa,” Bae complained, that whining edge entering his voice again, and Gold nodded.

“It is,” he said. “And you’ve got another few hours to sleep yet. How about you go back to bed, hm? I can wake you later.”

“’Kay,” Bae nodded, and Gold crouched down and lifted with his knees, hauling Bae up with his good right arm under his backside so he could use his cane with the other. It was a trick he’d learned long ago, when Bae was a toddler: how to carry a child with only one arm. It hurt like blazes to use his injured hand on his cane, but it was worth it for the solid, grounding weight of Bae in his arms.

“Oof,” he murmured, “What have we been feeding you? You’re heavy as a rock!”

Bae gave a soft, sleepy laugh, and allowed Gold to carry him back to his bedroom and settle him down on the bed. “Back to sleep, son,” Gold said. “I’ll have pancakes for you when it’s time to get up.”

Bae gave a tired smile, but he was already half-asleep, and Gold tucked him back into bed and then rose to his feet. Bae might be able to go back to sleep, but Gold knew he never would.

He made it to the bathroom before he heaved into the toilet, bile burning the back of his throat, his empty stomach wrenching. His hand blazed, and he was shaking all over as he rose to his feet, flushing and wiping his mouth with tissue. He brushed his teeth, and ran a hand through his tangled hair. The man staring back at him in the mirror looked hunted, haunted, huge gaping dark eyes in a gaunt face, with new lines around his mouth and eyes from exhaustion and grief.

She was gone. She was gone, and although he had known this moment would come, he hadn’t expected it to hurt just as much the second time as it had the first. This time it was his fault, plain and simple. This time, he had driven her away.

The first aid kit under the sink contained bandages and antiseptic, and Gold bandaged his hand and took an extra painkiller, along with the prescription for his ankle. He could still move his fingers, but his hand was a little swollen, and he was thankful to be mostly ambidextrous. There was no way he would be signing his name for a while.

He kept the bracelet on. She may never come back to him, but he was damned if he’d be so stupid this time as to lose what little he had left of her.

By the time he had dressed – quickly, and foregoing a waistcoat as the buttons were impossible with his bandaged hand – he managed to look halfway presentable. He looked as if he’d had a hard night, but no one in town would question him further: they held no concern for his wellbeing, after all, and they feared him too deeply to insult him to his face.

He woke Bae a few hours later, the prospect of pancakes – as always – the best way to get his son out of bed. Bae was more awake than he had been an hour previous, but Gold couldn’t hold up his end of the conversation. All Bae wanted to discuss was the box Belle had brought, and all the wonderful tales contained therein. Gold thought if he remembered her smile as she spoke, the way she had laughed and freely offered every treasure she possessed, he would fall apart.

“Young Emma is expecting you at ten, right son?” Gold said, trying desperately to change the subject. There was a plan, he believed, to start decorating the Nolan home for the holidays, and Emma had insisted that her best friend be part of the proceedings. At the time, Gold had somewhat begrudged the loss of a day with Bae. Now, the prospect of a day to hide away and lick his wounds without impacting his son was a godsend.

“Yep,” Bae nodded, his mouth full of pancakes. Gold sighed.

“Swallow, then speak,” he reminded, wearily. “No talking with your mouth full.”

Bae swallowed hard. “Yes, papa.”

“Do you need to take anything with you?”

“She doesn’t have Elf on DVD, can I take that?”

“Sure,” Gold shrugged, “one second.” He left Bae in the kitchen to seek out the DVD, and returned a moment later, depositing it on the counter in front of his son.

“Thanks papa!” Bae beamed, and for a moment Gold’s heart lifted a little to see that smile.

Bae continued to chatter, his topic now mercifully turned to the upcoming school play. Gold listened and nodded along, and tried to forget how wonderful the night before had been, how warm and soft Belle had been in his arms, and how happy he had felt. It had been a perfect night, the world restored at last to what it ought to be.

And then, inevitably, it had had to shatter. She hadn’t been able to trust him as she claimed, and he had proven himself unworthy of the attempt.

Bae finished his pancakes and put the plate by the sink. Gold followed him out to the hall, and supervised Bae as he tied his shoelaces. They wrapped up warm for the snowy walk to the Nolans’, and Gold winced with pain as they stepped outside, and the icy breeze hit the throbbing wound on his knuckles.

“You okay, papa?” Bae asked, as they walked down the path to the street. “You look sad. Is it your hand?”

“Just tired, Bae,” he said. “And yes, my hand hurts. That paperweight was very heavy.”

“Oh,” Bae nodded. “Miss Belle stayed very late last night, huh? Were you up talking? Emma and I talk super late sometimes when we have sleepovers and I’m always very tired after.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did,” Gold replied.

“Are you guys best friends again?” Bae asked, excitedly. “Can Miss Belle come for dinner again? I wanna hear more about the elephants!”

“I… think we ought to hold off on that, for now,” he said, swallowing thickly. Bae’s face dropped. “But Miss Belle had a great time with you, she told me so. I bet if you went to the Library with Mrs Nolan this afternoon and asked her, then Belle would be delighted to tell you more about the elephants. Tell Mrs Nolan it’s okay with me for you to go.”

“Okay, thanks papa,” Bae nodded, but Gold could tell he was confused. There was little to be done for it: Gold could hardly explain to his eight-year-old son that last night his heart had been full for the first time in half a decade, and that come morning it had been shattered again, his bruised hand the self-inflicted consequence.

He had broken her relationship with her father, he reminded himself. It was a regret he’d learned to live with for so long he had hardly noticed it after a while, stacked up with all of the rest. But for Belle, his paying to secure the outcome was a life-changing revelation. He didn’t know if she’d ever speak to him again; he didn’t know if he had the right to hope she would. He had finally felt like he saw her again, like they had finally found each other after years separated and lost. To have lost her again so quickly was a cruel joke. He felt winded, as if someone had stabbed him through the chest.

It was impossible to deny it any longer: this heartbreak was proof. His feelings had not changed, for all his anger and his adopted hatred. No matter how he felt, what he did, what she said or where she ran, she was the love of his life. He loved her: her tempest heart and her sharp, shimmering mind; her gentleness and her perceptiveness; her wide eyes that could swallow the world and her kind mouth that would forgive its wrongs. He loved every soft, old, familiar part of her, and all the new, strange edges that had grown in her absence. He loved the woman who had held him so tenderly last night, and the woman who had screamed and cried and stormed out the next morning. It was just his luck, his stupid stubborn bad luck, that he would only accept that now, when she would never speak to him again. When it was too late for it to matter.

He wondered if she was gone already; if she had packed her bags that very morning and caught the early bus out of town. There was no way to know without going to the diner and asking, and his cowardice prevented that. If he didn’t know she had left forever, then there was a chance she would come back.

“Hey, Mr Gold,” Mary Margaret greeted them on the doorstep. “Hey, Bae!”

“Hey Mrs Nolan!” Bae chirped back, and there came a roar from behind Mary Margaret.

“Bae!” Emma cried, and ran forward, ducking under her mother’s arm to drag her friend into the house, “C’mon, dad’s already got the decorations out of the attic so we gotta get started!”

“Bye papa!” Bae cried as Emma hauled him off, and Mary Margaret snorted through her nose.

“She’s excited today,” she shrugged. “She’s old enough to be involved now so Christmas has become her favourite thing.”

“So it seems,” Gold nodded. He braced both hands on his cane, and winced visibly, even as he tried to hide the pain from Mary Margaret.

“Hey, you okay?”

“A minor injury, dear, nothing more,” he said, dismissively. She gave him a stern look.

“Let me see that,” she replied. He narrowed his eyes.

“It’s quite alright, I assure you,” he said. She raised her eyebrows.

“You’re reliant on a cane for balance, so having what looks like your dominant hand injured is gonna be difficult for you,” she replied, with a startling level of perception. “If you let me look I can at least make sure the bandage is secure. You did it yourself?”

He nodded, curtly. She pursed her lips.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” she said. “Come inside and sit down.”

Left without an alternative option, Gold sighed and came inside. Mary Margaret lead him to their whitewashed dining table. “Sit down, I’ll make a cup of tea.”

“You needn’t bother,” he told her. “I don’t need anything.”

“You’re injured and it’s a Sunday, so you’ll be going home alone,” Mary Margaret retorted, fumbling in a cupboard for the teabags. “I can just wrap that up for you if you give me a second.”

And Gold, too tired and worn too thin to argue, nodded in defeat and sat down at the table. Mary Margaret looked a little surprised that he’d conceded so easily, but offered him a tentative smile as she bustled off to find her first aid kit.

The children were in the living room: he could hear them through the wall. Gold was left alone with his thoughts once again, and he suddenly wished to God that David would come through, or Mary Margaret would return, or Emma would get a juice craving.

Regardless of what happened, he would cancel the offer tomorrow, as planned. The moment the estate agent opened, he would be there.

It was only upon reiterating that thought that he realised the assumption he was making: she hadn’t said she wouldn’t take the money, only that she was horrified he’d kept his name out of it. Now that they were clearly no longer heading anywhere toward reconciliation – and Gold felt himself stumble at that thought, his chest caving in as the pain of it lanced through him – maybe she would take his money. Maybe that was the only thing he could do to make reparations to her: to give her the funds to get away from him forever.

At least he could respect her enough to make her own decision. At least he could do the honourable thing, for once in his miserable life, and lay all his cards out on the table.

Gold drummed his aching fingers on his knee with his cane pressed between his shins, and tried to take long, slow, deep breaths, focusing on the pain in his hand and not the ache in his chest. She was gone. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. He had been through this before, the sun and then the burn, the high before the fall. He had been deliriously happy with her one moment, and had her leave forever the next.

This time, however, it was unequivocally his own fault. He’d hurt her, perhaps beyond repair. He could equivocate until the cows came home about how she shouldn’t have been snooping, how she shouldn’t have found out, but the truth was that he’d committed the crime. He’d lied to her, he’d tried to control her, and he was responsible for the rift that had finally ruined her relationship with her father. However she had found out, all of that was still true.

He hated himself for what he’d done. And, somewhere deep down, he also hated Moe French for reacting as he had, for being the sort of unforgivable bastard who would throw his only child out of her home just for following her heart. Gold was thankful, in the cold and heartless part of him, that Moe was already dead. If he hadn’t been, then Gold wasn’t sure his cane wouldn’t have finished the job. The thought of Moe aiming his fist at his own child made Gold sick to his stomach.

 

 

“Hey, Gold,” David came into the kitchen, startling him from his thoughts. Gold could hear Mary Margaret with the children now, apparently laying down some rules regarding the use of tinsel. David was frowning in confusion, “You alright?”

“I managed to injure myself early this morning,” Gold confessed, for Mary Margaret could hardly be relied upon to keep quiet. “Your wife offered to refresh my bandage.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” David’s confusion turned to genuine concern. “How’d it happen?”

Gold sighed, and crumpled, and to his own surprise found himself aching to tell someone the truth. He was so tired of hiding, so tired of lying.

“I slammed my hand on my desk with tremendous force,” he said, his head bowed. “I believe it was a mistake.”

“Really?” David Nolan’s eyebrows rose. “And what made you do that?”

“Love.”

“What?” The shock in David’s voice was unsurprising, if not particularly gratifying. “Not Bae, I take it?” Gold shook his head. “You… you love someone?”

“Well I may not have the idyllic marriage you’re so proud of, but I’m not so heartless as you might think,” he snapped back, reflexively. David held up his hands.

“Didn’t think you were,” he said. Then, to Gold’s horror, David pulled out a chair and sat himself down. “It’s Belle French, isn’t it?”

Gold’s eyes narrowed, “This isn’t a heart-to-heart, dearie,” he sneered, the pain in his hand throbbing, making him even testier than usual. “I’ve no need to spill my pains to you.”

“What was that?” Mary Margaret’s voice came from behind him, coming through from the living room with a box of medical supplies in one hand. David looked up at her and smiled.

“Gold’s in love with Belle French,” he said. Mary Margaret’s eyes widened.

“Really?” she looked at Gold. “The librarian?”

Gold didn’t answer, but he knew his silence spoke volumes.

“How’d that come up, then?” she asked David, who nodded to Gold’s aching hand.

“Something happened between them that made him slam his hand on a table,” he said. “That’s the result.”

“Oh no, what happened?” Mary Margaret’s concerned doe-eyes turned to Gold, who wished for nothing more in that moment than to be swallowed by the earth, anything to be out of this conversation. She took a seat next to him, and encouraged him to move his hand to where she could see it. When her patient hands touched the tender skin he winced, and tried not to pull back.

“None of your business,” he snarled. She rolled her eyes.

“Fine, don’t tell us,” she said. “But I usually find that burdens are lightest when they’re shared. Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s not too late.”

“I think it was too late a long time ago,” he admitted, his stomach sinking at his own words. “Today was just a nail in the coffin.”

“You guys… were an item, then?” David asked.

“A long time ago,” Gold said, shortly. “But I’m a difficult man to love, you see. Not even she could manage it for long.”

“You love her, though?” Mary Margaret, now having gauged the tenderness of his injury, managed to cover it in bruise cream and begin to re-bandage without causing any further pain. Her kind green eyes met his, and he suddenly remembered all the many ways these good people had cared for his son, had given Bae the childhood Gold couldn’t hope to, and had never once been unkind or uncivil to him for all his rudeness. And now, Mary Margaret was bandaging his self-inflicted wounds, and Bae was playing with their daughter in their front room, and David was making him tea, and he couldn’t bring himself to sneer at their kindness with another lie. Perhaps they would never understand one another, never be close, but it seemed churlish now to see their good nature and call it weakness.

“With all my heart,” he sighed. “But a long time ago I lashed out in anger, and the repercussions of that mistake caught up with me this morning. She’s gone, and I doubt she’ll ever return.”

“It’s never too late for love,” Mary Margaret told him, softly. From anyone else the words would have been trite and insincere, but somehow she imbued them with such earnest innocence that for just a moment, his battered heart almost believed them. “When you love someone, you always find your way back to one another in the end.”

“One can wish,” he murmured. David set a cup of tea down in front of him, and smiled.

“You wanna stay and watch the kids for a while?” David offered. “Emma’s desperate to make popcorn garlands.”

Gold took a sip of his tea as Mary Margaret finished bandaging his hand. “You should stay,” she said. “At least for an hour or so? By then Mayor Mills should have the sidewalks gritted properly at least.”

“I… thank you,” Gold managed a real smile, however small and tentative, and David grinned. He took another sip of his tea, and allowed just a little of their warmth, their kindness, to seep into his bones.

Three hours later, Gold made his excuses and left Bae in their capable care. The Nolans hadn’t pressed him for more details, instead allowing Emma to distract with her antics while Bae – apparently thrilled to have his father engulfed into the fold – sat at his feet and made popcorn wreathes. He hadn't intended to stay long, but Bae had begged him to stay to watch the movie with them, and after the horrors of the morning he couldn't bring himself to turn down such an offer of companionship. By the end of it, he even made David laugh with an off-hand quip, a fact that stunned them both.

Bolstered by that support, Gold made his way toward Main Street. He would walk home past Granny’s, he thought, and just see if he could catch a glimpse of Belle. At least he knew she had support there, that she people she could rely on in times of need. At least she wasn’t alone in the world, regardless of the mistakes he made, the damage he had done. Even if Belle never spoke to him again, he could count on Mulan, Ruby and Granny to look after her.

So caught up was he in his thoughts, that he didn’t even see the figure coming toward him until he’d almost crashed into her.

“Hey!” Regina’s voice cracked like a whip, “Watch where you’re going, Gold!” He could feel her eyes drifting over him, judging every unkempt inch. He didn’t greet her, just waited for her catty comment. “Rough night?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“None of your concern,” he replied. She sighed.

“Then allow me to guess,” she said. “If you insist upon being as difficult as possible. Either your son is ill, in which case you have my sympathies, or you have had a lovers’ tiff with young Miss French.”

“Bae is very well, thank you,” Gold said. He didn’t comment upon the other part, and heard the victory in her voice when she spoke.

“Ahh,” she purred. “So it is about the French girl.”

“Miss French is thirty years old, Madame Mayor,” he snapped. “Hardly a girl.”

“And I’m sure you tell yourself that every night when you remember the age difference,” she snickered. “Or at least, you used to. I must admit, I’m unsure of your current status: on or off?”

“Is Mr Locksley still married?” he shot back, and saw her wince. “What’s his stance on adultery this week, hot or cold? Because I have heard it is wont to change depending on your hemline. Don’t test me, dearie. And on that first point, you should know that I won’t tolerate your using Miss French. She’s in a vulnerable position right now and-“

“You think I’m going to take advantage of her grief to score a cheap deal and make a quick buck,” Regina folded her arms, her breath puffing in steam clouds in the frigid air. “Before you can.”

“I don’t want to see her cheated out of her inheritance,” Gold said.

“Gold, I’m sorry but my duty is not to Miss French, it is to the town of Storybrooke, and this would bring in much-needed revenue. My intention is to bring more money into the city coffers, not to scam the poor girl – who, I would add, is only capable of feeding herself and keeping the place up to code due to the employment I offered her.” Regina gave him a condescending look, as if that should clear up any issue he could have. Gold wasn’t fooled: he’d known her too long.

“And any blow her continued presence here deals me is simply a bonus, I suppose,” he retorted.

“Gold, we’ve known each other a long time,” Regina sighed, and allowed herself a small smirk. “So of course, if there’s a chance to incapacitate my only true rival in town, I will take advantage. But from what I hear, Miss French is her own woman. If she didn’t want to be here, then I dare say she would long since have moved on.”

“How did you find out about us, anyway?” he asked, frowning. Regina looked a little uncomfortable.

“Her father came to me, soon after she left town, blustering about wanting to get even with his former landlord. Apparently you pulled a gun on him. You’re welcome, by the way, for having the criminal charges for assault dropped.”

“He tried to file charges? Of course he did,” Gold sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I doubt he said you were paying her for sex, as he implied,” Regina continued. “Even you have more class than that, and little Miss Bookworm doesn’t seem the type. So what was it? Schoolgirl infatuation coinciding with a mid-life crisis? Was she your red shiny sports car?”

He didn’t reply. In the end, she rolled her eyes.

“Fine, keep your secrets. But whatever has gone wrong between you, I highly doubt you’ll get any traction on this for some time now, considering what happened this morning. I can’t imagine she’ll be thinking about real estate just now, or romance for that matter.”

“How do you know about this morning?” Gold frowned: surely Belle hadn’t been spreading their dirty laundry all around town. He knew her too well for that: she was an intensely private person, just like him.

“Everyone knows,” Regina said, with a shrug. “When the diner didn’t open half of Storybrooke was affected.”

“Wait, the diner?” Alarm shot through him, and he tried to cover his fear with casual interest. “What happened?”

“Oh, so you didn’t hear?” Regina said. “Granny Lucas is in the hospital, she had a massive heart-attack. When I called Dr Whale to confirm Ashley Boyd’s story, he said she was in a critical condition. Doesn’t Miss French live at the Inn, with the Lucas’s? I’m sure she’ll have better things to do than worry over her inheritance for the time being.”

Gold’s heart was in his throat, his stomach churning and mind racing. Belle would be distraught. She had already lost her father to a heart condition, and Granny Lucas, for all her faults, had clearly been looking after her since she returned to town. If something were to happen to her, Gold didn’t know if Belle would ever truly recover.

“She does,” he confirmed. “They… they’re very close. Would you excuse me, Madame Mayor?”

“Somewhere to be on a Sunday afternoon, Mr Gold?”

He didn’t respond: he left her behind on the street, and headed off as quickly as he could toward his car, panic racing through his bloodstream. He had to get to the hospital. Belle’s emotional health had been fragile since she came back to town, and between Granny’s illness, the echo of her father’s death, and what had happened between them the night before he could imagine she would be devastated. No matter how she felt about him right now, he had to find her. He had to know she was all right.

He didn’t know what Belle would do, if Granny died now. He didn’t know if there would be any of the Belle he knew left if she lost the last family she had in the world.

Gold clambered into his Cadillac, and hit the ignition before he was even strapped in. He broke several state speed limits getting to the hospital, and parked it in the first space he found, uncaring if he got a parking ticket. He would go inside, he thought, he would just go inside and make sure she was all right. All being well, she would cuss him out and order him gone, and her dismissal would devastate him but he would survive. As long as she was all right, he could live with the rest.

An ER nurse directed him to the cardiac unit, where he found Ruby Lucas and Mulan Fa sat in the waiting area. Ruby’s make up was smeared, her face blotchy, thick black tracks of eyeliner and mascara streaked down her pale cheeks. She looked wrecked, as if her world had ended. “Mr Gold?” Mulan frowned, when Ruby just blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

“You have a lot of nerve,” Ruby muttered. “Showing up here. Belle told us what you did, you sick fuck. You should be in there instead of my Granny.”

Gold swallowed hard, but inclined his head. “I came to find Belle,” he said, honestly. “I heard what happened. You… have my sympathies, Miss Lucas. Your grandmother is a good woman, and she doesn’t deserve this.”

Ruby just collapsed into tears at that, and Mulan held her close, rocking her as Ruby wept into her shoulder. “Belle’s not here,” Mulan told him. “You’re about an hour too late. She left.”

“What?” Gold frowned, unable to believe it. He had thought she’d hang over Granny’s bedside until they dragged her away. “Where did she go?”

“She stayed until Granny was out of surgery,” Mulan said. “Then she said something about her dad and took off. She isn’t answering her cell. We have no idea where she is, and she looked a mess when she left. I’d have gone after her but...” She nodded to Ruby, sobbing in her arms, and Gold understood. He remembered, vaguely, an incident involving the Lucas girl and a young man just outside town, a car accident that had claimed the boy’s life. Ruby was already an orphan. No wonder she was inconsolable. “We don’t know where she is.”

Gold’s heart stopped in his chest, panic flooding through him. This had hit Belle even harder than he had feared, then, if she wasn’t even answering her phone. The ground was all but frozen, and it had begun to snow on his drive over. If she was still in the heels she’d been wearing that morning, she could slip and break her neck if she wasn’t careful, and he couldn’t imagine she was thinking too hard about her safety.

“Thank you,” Gold said, and then, unsure of why he did so, he reached into his suit pocket and drew out his handkerchief, handing it to Ruby. “It’s clean,” he promised.

“Thanks,” she said, thickly, wiping her eyes.

“Give your grandmother my best,” he said. “I’ll let you know if I find Belle.”

Mulan nodded her thanks. Gold turned on his heel and returned to his car without another word, imbued with a single purpose. His heart hammered in his chest, his hands shaking and sweat prickling at his brow, panic and adrenaline coursing through him. He tried her cell as he drove. The tone rang on without a break, a terrifying and hopeless repetition. Mulan was right: she wasn’t picking up.

He had to find her before she froze to death, or slipped on the road, or fell apart so completely that nothing could ever put her fully back together. He had to find her before she was lost for good. Perhaps he should have done this long ago, followed her, gone after her, not allowed her to throw herself into the wind and lose herself. Perhaps it was already too late.

He still had to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Belle goes AWOL


	24. The Centre Cannot Hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up, I've edited just a little of the semantics of the last chapter. So for time line reference (for nerds like me who super care about continuity), Granny's heart attack happened at around 7am, and at the end of this chapter it's around 12:30pm. The end of the previous chapter (Gold reaching the hospital) therefore took place around 1:30pm. I've edited the previous chapter to reflect that, having actually looked up how long certain events should take.

( _Six hours earlier_ )

“She has a pulse,” Belle reported desperately, her fingers pressed to the side of Granny’s neck. “It’s kind of irregular but it’s there.”

“I’m calling 911,” Mulan added, her phone already at her ear. Ruby was just staring, blank and horrified, at the back of Granny’s head. Her mouth hung open in a soundless scream, her eyes unblinking as she shook her head. “The EMTs are on their way,” Mulan said, when she’d reported the incident to the operator. “Ten minutes max.”

“Okay, thanks,” Belle felt herself slip into crisis mode, and knew Mulan had done the same. They’d seen enough minor emergencies abroad to know basically what to do, and both had taken a first aid course back in Australia. “Come on, Ruby,” Belle said, trying to jog Ruby back into functioning. “We’re gonna move her into the recovery position, okay?”

Ruby shook her head, sitting back on her backside and dragging her knees to her chest, “Granny,” she whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks, smudging her mascara. “Oh, God, Granny.”

“I think we’re on our own,” Mulan said, her brow creased with concern. Belle gave a short nod. Mulan took Granny’s hip as Belle took hold of her shoulder, and between them they rolled her onto her side, allowing her to breathe easier. The rise and fall of her chest was comforting, although it was still eerie to see her eyes closed, her body so still. Her face was grey and almost lifeless. Belle felt sick.

“Ten minutes?” she asked, holding herself together by the skin of her teeth. It took everything she had to remain alert, to not fall into the horrified, anguished, terrified state that had claimed Ruby immediately. Granny couldn’t die. If Granny died, Belle didn’t know what she would do.

Mulan nodded, and crawled to sit between the two of them, holding out her arms so Belle and Ruby could both lean against her. Ruby held Granny’s hand in her lap, squeezing hard. Granny didn’t wake up to squeeze back. “Hopefully less,” she said. “They said they’d be here ASAP.”

Mulan’s arm held them both close, and Belle took hold of Ruby’s free hand, squeezing hard as they all held on to one another, their eyes on Granny. Belle wanted to scream, but no sound came out. She couldn’t cry, and Granny didn’t wake, and the longest five minutes of Belle’s life passed with the ticking of Granny’s clock on the mantle.

“I forgive you guys,” Ruby said, at last, her voice blank with horror. “It was such a stupid thing to fight about.”

“It’s okay,” Belle said. “The EMTs will be here any time now.”

“I don’t want to fight with the people I love,” Ruby whimpered. “I didn’t get to tell Granny that. I didn’t get to tell her I love her.”

“She isn’t dead,” Mulan snapped. “You have to remember that. She’s just unconscious. When the paramedics get here they might well be able to revive her. She’ll be fine.”

“She isn’t sick,” Ruby murmured, shaking her head. “She was fine, right? She didn’t seem like she was sick.”

“People are always fine until they’re not,” Belle murmured, her father’s face flashing before her mind. _It was sudden_ , Ruby had said that fateful day, her voice tinny on a bad line, half a world away. _He just collapsed._

“That’s not helpful,” Mulan scolded. “Granny is going to be fine. She might just have fainted, or hit her head, or…”

“Or it could be a heart attack,” Ruby finished. “Belle’s thinking it.”

“No more speculating,” Mulan decided. “Granny’s still breathing, so no one is allowed to suspect the worst.” She turned to Belle, her face firm and purposeful. “Belle, do you wanna go wash up or something before they get here? I can grab a few things while Ruby keeps an eye on Granny.”

Belle nodded, her whole being clinging desperately to a task, a purpose, however meaningless. She hurried off down the hall to her room, and into the little bathroom. She brushed her teeth quickly, thankful at least to have the fuzzy feeling out of her mouth. She splashed water over her face, and scrubbed it with soap, washing away her mascara streaks and the smudged remnants of last night’s make-up. Her hair was a mess, and a few harsh swipes with a brush only hurt her scalp and made it bushy and wild. She scraped it back into a messy ponytail to keep it out of her face.

The bell jangled downstairs, and she heard voices and footsteps. Belle ran back out of the room, slamming the door behind her, and met Mulan in the hallway. “That’ll be the paramedics,” Mulan said.

“She’s up here!” Ruby screamed, jumping to her feet and running out to the landing to meet them. She screamed down the stairs to the approaching figures, “Come quick, _please_!”

There were heavy footsteps on the stairs, and then Ruby was dragging the three paramedics into Granny’s room. From then everything was a blur of medical equipment and strangers taking Granny’s pulse and barking commands, and Belle stood back out of the way, feeling all at once helpless and overwhelmed. At some point, Mulan’s strong hand slipped into hers, and squeezed hard in silent support. The arrival of the ambulance had apparently broken Ruby from her shocked daze, because was everywhere, babbling questions to anyone who would listen, refusing to let go of Granny for even a moment.

The EMTs got Granny on a stretcher, and Belle’s stomach clenched, her heart racing when she saw Granny’s face hidden behind an oxygen mask. “What’s wrong with her?” Ruby begged, for the hundredth time. Finally someone, a redheaded female paramedic, looked up and spoke to her.

“We believe she had a cardiac episode,” she explained. “We need to get her to the hospital now. One of you can ride in the ambulance.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Ruby said, stubbornly, her hand tight on Granny’s.

“And what’s your name, miss?” the paramedic asked.

“I’m Ruby Lucas,” Ruby said, her voice wavering on the words, her strength faltering in the face of the paramedic’s calm. “I’m… I’m her granddaughter.”

“I see, and what’s the patient’s name?”

“Anne Lucas,” Ruby’s voice was hoarse, but she forced the words out anyway.

“Okay, Ruby,” the paramedic said, soothingly, her hand cupping Ruby’s shoulder to steady her. “My name is Ariel. You’re gonna ride in the ambulance with me, okay?”

“Okay,” Ruby nodded. Ariel signalled to one of her colleagues, and between them they carried Granny down the stairs, with Ruby holding her hand the whole way. Belle and Mulan followed; Mulan hadn’t let go of Belle since the EMTs arrived, Belle realised, and she thought she’d likely have passed out by now were it not for that silent strength.

They bundled Granny into the ambulance waiting in front of the diner. A crowd had formed, and Belle spotted Dr Hopper, Ashley Boyd, and Leroy among the small group. “What happened?” Archie asked, as Ruby passed him. Her lips were pressed in a hard, thin line, and she just shook her head. Belle knew if Ruby opened her mouth to explain what had happened, then she would likely burst into tears again. Archie’s question went unanswered.

Ruby crouched into the back of the ambulance, and clung onto Granny for dear life. Granny’s head swayed from side to side as they settled her, her eyes fluttering, and as the doors closed Belle could only pray that she would still be moving when they reached the hospital.

“Is Granny okay?” Ashley demanded, as the ambulance drove off down Main Street, sirens blaring. For a moment, Belle seriously considered decking a pregnant woman for asking such a ridiculous question.

“The paramedics think it was a cardiac episode,” she said instead, forcing the herself to be civil, her words short and sharp.

“So, like, a heart attack?” Ashley asked. Belle nodded, and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself together. Moe’s face appeared before her eyes whenever she so much as blinked. Had they bundled him into the ambulance like that, an oxygen mask covering his broad face, his eyes fluttering in pain? His face had always been red, florid even, but in Belle’s mind’s eye it was now grey and lifeless, drained of vital blood. Was there anyone in the shop when he fell to hear his body hit the ground? Or did he lie there, unconscious and fighting to live, for hours before someone found him? Had anyone been there to hold his hand, to accompany him when they raced him to the hospital?

She had never allowed herself to dwell on the details of her father’s death. She had resisted the urge to research it, to dig up books on heart conditions and learn the details of how he’d died. She had never asked anyone whether he was alone, how long it was before the paramedics got to him. All she knew was that he’d died at Storybrooke General Hospital. She had suppressed her morbid questions, refused to even imagine the scene outside of her nightmares, for fear of what she might uncover. For fear, perhaps, of her own consuming grief.

Now, having seen the aftermath with her own eyes, Belle couldn’t help picturing her father grey-faced and delirious in the back of the ambulance, fighting to breathe, and all alone in the world. And where had she been, his only child, his family? Swanning about in Paris, oblivious and too far away to hold his hand. He was an alcoholic, and in their later years together he’d become a brute, but he was still her father.

“Yes,” Mulan stepped in, when Belle didn’t reply to Ashley’s question. “A heart attack. We’re gonna go to the hospital now.”

“What about the diner?” Ashley asked. “I guess with Granny and Ruby gone we can’t open today.”

“No, Ashley, we can’t _fucking_ open if Granny is having _open heart surgery_ ten miles down the road!” Belle snapped back. “For God’s sake get your _stupid_ head out of your ass for five seconds and _think_ , would you?” Mulan took her arm, and stroked her shoulder comfortingly, holding her back as Ashley held up her hands and stepped back.

“I was just asking, jeez,” Ashley muttered. It was only Mulan’s soft, reproving sound and her steadying hand on her arm that stopped Belle from lashing out a second time.

Dr Hopper stepped forward, trying to make peace. “We all want the best for Granny and Ruby,” he said. “And it’s natural for tensions to run high in times of crisis, but we have to pull together now. Ashley, maybe you could keep an eye on the diner today, and tell anyone who asks what happened? Word of mouth should do the rest to get the word out. I can’t imagine there’s anyone in town that wouldn’t want to send their good wishes once they find out. Meanwhile, Belle and Mulan can get to the hospital. Ruby shouldn’t be alone without her friends on a dark day like this.”

Belle nodded. “Yes,” she managed. “That sounds like a good plan.”

Ashley tried a smile, to make peace, but Belle still mostly just wanted to smack her. “Ruby has my number,” Ashley said. “Call me when you know something, okay?”

“Of course,” Belle agreed, tightly. Mulan pulled Belle away, toward her dusty old Toyota.

“I’ll drive,” she said, already pulling out her keys. Belle nodded, unsure if her license was even valid in Maine, and knowing for certain she was too distracted to drive safely just then.

“Belle?” Archie caught her before she could get in, and Belle turned to face him. His kind eyes made her want to burst into tears, but she grit her teeth and held steady. “Listen, I know things have been hard… what with your father passing, and now Granny’s illness, amongst other things. And things will be hard for Ruby too. I just want you to know I’m here to talk, should you need anything. No charge.”

“Thanks,” Belle managed a smile, comforted just a little by his earnest, honest presence.

“It’s completely normal, what with everything that’s happened to you of late, to need a little help.” Archie continued. Belle’s eyes narrowed.

“You mean about my dad and Granny, right?”

“Right,” Archie agreed, and looked a little uncomfortable. “And… other things. I do try not to listen to gossip, and you need to be heading off, but it does seem things have been a little… chaotic, for you, since your return to town. If you need to talk about anything at all, my door is always open.”

Belle wanted to lash out again, just for a moment. She remembered that Archie had seen her leave Gold’s shop that night, and Ruby’s comment about what had been seen at Bae’s party. The thought that the whole town was gossiping behind her back made her stomach roll, but when she met Archie’s gaze she saw only concern, and an earnestness that quelled much of her initial anger.

“Is everyone talking about me, then?” she asked, and she hated how small her voice sounded. “Am I the town lunatic now?” Archie shook his head.

“I’m only going off what I’ve seen of you in person, Belle,” he assured her. “And I’m very sorry if I’ve overstepped my bounds. I just know how hard it can be, when things are so hectic, to hear that little voice that guides the way. I want to help, if I can.”

“It’s… it’s appreciated,” she managed at last, nodding and swallowing hard, reassured by his guileless gaze and warm voice. She’d never heard anyone with a bad word to say about Archie Hopper – she even remembered Gold making a complimentary comment or two, long ago. “Thank you, Dr. Hopper.”

“Any time,” he said. “Now, go on. You need to be with your friends, and with Granny.”

Belle nodded, and he handed her his card before she ducked into Mulan’s car. Archie closed the door behind her.

Belle remembered little of the ride to the hospital. It was freezing, both outside and inside the car, and she remembered the frost still on the tops of the grass, the grey of the sky, the tang of coming snow in the air. She didn’t remember the road, or if Mulan spoke, or if she had been crying. She knew she should want to be there as soon as possible, to stand by Ruby and wait for news. But Belle’s bravery had deserted her back in Gold’s office – only an hour ago, not long at all, but it felt like a lifetime – and she never wanted to reach the hospital, and face the reality of losing what little family she had left.

Granny had always been ready with a hug, whenever Belle ran to the diner after a fight with her father; she had fed her pie when Moe couldn’t stock the fridge; she had helped her and Ruby cram for their SATs. It had been Granny who sent her cookies her first week at college when she’d felt so very out of her depth, and who had been her rock these past few months, creating a home from a hotel room and a life out of a temporary stop-over. It was even in Granny’s diner that early morning, Granny listening sympathetically while Belle bemoaned her lack of employment, where Regina had found her and offered her a job. Without Granny, Belle didn’t know who she’d be today.

And now, Granny was lying in a hospital bed, fighting to survive. Belle felt sick to her stomach, her mind a stunned blur, fixated on the white, wintry November sky, the forest rushing past, and the familiar hum and rattle of Mulan’s Camaro’s dodgy old engine. They’d driven from New York to San Francisco in this car just two years ago, and Belle wished to God that she were back there now with the plains flying by the window in the sun, and not on her way to Storybrooke Hospital this frozen day, with her father already dead and buried and Granny on death’s door.

They pulled into the hospital parking lot all too soon. Belle felt her stomach roll as she got out of the car. She managed to stagger a few steps to the edge of the lot, where the concrete met the trees, and retched into the frosty bushes.

Mulan followed and stroked her back, holding her ponytail in place. It was only then that Belle realised she hadn’t eaten since last night’s burger, although she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat anything for a while yet. Granny would scold her for that. The thought brought fresh tears to her eyes, and she leaned back against Mulan, and let herself be held for a moment as she sobbed, her face buried in her friend’s shoulder.

“Come on,” Mulan said. “I think we’ll be here a while, and you need to change out of these heels at least.”

“Don’t have anything,” Belle mumbled. Mulan shook her head.

“I grabbed some things from your room while you were brushing your teeth,” Mulan said. “My father broke his hip when I was in high school, and I remember sitting for six hours in the world’s least comfortable shorts in the ER praying to God for my jeans.”

Belle snorted, and shook her head. “You’re way too practical.”

“Good in a crisis,” Mulan shrugged. “It’s all that combat training. If you get in the back seat I can keep watch.”

Belle couldn’t have cared less in that moment what she was wearing: she could have had her prom dress on, and she didn’t know if she’d have even noticed. But somewhere, in the part of her brain that recognised what was happening, she knew Mulan was right. They needed to be practical. Granny could be in surgery for hours, and her heels and blue dress would soon grow uncomfortable.

She clambered back into the Toyota, and rummaged in Mulan’s ubiquitous leather holdall, dragging out a pair of old leggings, an oversize t-shirt, a big sweater, socks, and her comfy flat black boots. They were her workout clothes and her oldest shoes, the farthest thing from anything she’d choose on an ordinary day, but today was far from ordinary. She felt much more comfortable once she had changed out of that blue dress – her date dress, her romantic dress, the dress she had worn for a man who had lied to and manipulated her for his own gain – and those killer heels.

“Better?” Mulan asked, helping her out of the car. She grabbed the holdall and held it in one hand, closing the door behind her with the other. Belle nodded.

“Much,” she said, pulling her coat back on over her sweater. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Mulan shrugged. “Between whatever the hell happened with Gold and whatever’s gonna face us in there, I figured you had bigger things to worry about.”

“She’s… she’s not going to die, is she?” Belle asked, knowing even as she said it that it was a child’s question, begging for a kind lie she wouldn’t believe.

“I don’t know,” Mulan admitted. “But I know you, and I know Ruby, and my girls are tough as nails. We’ll get through this.”

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Belle said, as Mulan took her hand and they started toward the ER entrance. “I know this is way more than you signed on for.”

“If that weren’t the shock talking I’d push you into traffic,” Mulan threatened, and Belle snorted a half-laugh, weak and unconvincing. “Belle, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. I go where I’m needed, and you need me here. And, I’m guessing, so will Ruby. I’d rather die than leave you guys all alone with this.”

“Thank you,” Belle breathed, and Mulan nodded, squeezing her hand hard. They’d reached the ER doors, and Belle took a moment, a long deep breath, before going inside.

It was deceptively quiet, hardly the frenetic, TV-like chaos Belle had pictured. Two teenagers with black eyes and bruises sat in chairs awaiting treatment; an old woman in a wheelchair dozed. A tired-looking nurse sat behind the desk with old-fashioned curls pinned on top of her head.

“Hi,” Mulan said, because Belle simply couldn’t. “A friend of ours was brought in in an ambulance about half an hour ago, Anne Lucas? Could you tell us where she is?”

“Anne Lucas?” the nurse repeated back, and Mulan nodded. The nurse flipped through a couple of charts, and pulled one out from the heap. “Cardiac episode?” she asked, and Mulan nodded.

“That’s all the paramedics could tell us,” she said. “Please, she’s my girlfriend’s grandmother, and she practically raised my friend here. We need to be with her.”

The nurse gave her a sympathetic smile, and scanned her eyes over the chart. “She’s in the cardiac unit,” the nurse said. “Operating Room 3. You should be able to wait in their waiting area until they know more.”

“Thank you,” Mulan replied. “Could you tell us where that is?”

“End of the corridor, turn left, and up the stairs,” the nurse replied. Mulan nodded her thanks, and lead Belle by the hand. Belle followed like a lost puppy, thankful now more than ever before for Mulan’s stoicism and practicality, her ability to maintain a level head even when the world was caving in. They climbed the stairs the nurse had indicated, following the signs for the cardiac unit, and turned another corner into a small waiting area.

“Mulan!” Ruby sobbed with relief as they entered, and she was in Mulan’s arms instantly, holding on tight. Belle tactfully let go of Mulan’s hand, allowing Ruby the benefit of Mulan’s soothing embrace, and looked away to give them some privacy. When she glanced back, they were kissing tenderly, Ruby having relaxed into Mulan’s arms. They fit together like lost puzzle pieces, a perfect match: Ruby’s emotionalism and compassion, and Mulan’s calm, steady stoicism. Ruby’s tall, willowy frame wrapped itself perfectly around petite, muscular Mulan, as if it had been built for that purpose. Belle felt a sharp pang of envy at how easily Mulan slipped into the role of supportive girlfriend, and how Ruby naturally leaned into her, soothed by her very presence.

Once, she might well have called Cam for that same support. She didn’t know what it said about her that she still wanted to, even knowing now that he was the reason she hadn’t been in this room waiting for news of her father, the reason they had burned their bridges and never apologised. Even knowing he respected nothing about her, not her wishes or her autonomy, and that he apparently never had. She still wished he were here. She still wanted him to hold her hand, to hug her close, to kiss her and stroke her hair the way Mulan did Ruby. She needed his warm, kind, calm voice to tell her everything would be okay.

Ruby finally broke away from Mulan and turned to Belle, hugging her close. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she wept into Belle’s shoulder, and Belle nodded, pressing her lips together in a futile attempt to keep from sobbing herself. Tears still leaked out, rolling down her cheeks and wetting Ruby’s white work shirt.

“Me too,” she managed, hugging her oldest friend as tightly as humanly possible, stroking her long dark hair and clinging on as she had when they were in middle school and a boy had made her cry. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Ruby said. “It was a dumb fight, I just… god, I’m so glad you guys are here. They won’t tell me anything. She’s in surgery and I don’t even know…”

“Shh,” Belle breathed, “shh, it’s okay. No news is probably good news.”

“Yeah,” Ruby breathed. “Last time… last time they told me when it was too late. You’re right… you’re probably right…”

Belle nodded, and opened her other arm to Mulan, as did Ruby. For a moment they all held on tight, drawing strength from one another.

Then Mulan broke away, and picked up the holdall again, holding it out to Ruby. “I grabbed you fresh clothes as well,” she said. “Belle changed in the car but they must have a restroom somewhere nearby.”

“Down the hall I think,” Belle supplied.

“I grabbed the comfiest clothes I could find,” Mulan explained, “so it probably doesn’t match, but I figured you wouldn’t want to sit for hours in those shorts and heels.” She mustered a small smile, running her eyes down Ruby’s mile-long legs. “However much I appreciate the view.”

“You cannot honestly be _flirting_ with me while my granny’s having open heart surgery,” Ruby muttered, but Belle saw a smile lift her lips through her tears.

“Distraction, sweetheart,” Mulan explained, a tacit apology, and leaned up to kiss Ruby’s cheek. “Go change. We can hold down the fort here.”

Ruby nodded, and dashed off down the hallway. Mulan and Belle took seats in the empty waiting room. The silence was broken only by the hum of the space heater in the corner, and the soft ticking of the clock over the doorway, above a door marked ‘hospital staff only past this point’.

“What did Ruby mean?” Mulan asked, after a moment. “When she said ‘last time’? When was it too late?”

“Peter,” Belle replied, softly. “She was talking about Peter.”

“Who’s Peter?” Mulan frowned. Belle sighed.

“Peter was Ruby’s first love,” she said. “He was the second friend she made here in Storybrooke, after me. He asked her to Homecoming our freshman year of high school, and that was that. They were together until my freshman year of college, when we were nineteen.”

“She never mentioned him,” Mulan said. “I… how could she have dated someone for years and never mention him?”

“Because he died in the ER we just walked through,” Belle explained, heavily. She could still remember that night like it was yesterday: the blood streaking Ruby’s arms and legs, the screams down the hallway, the doctors and nurses running, desperately trying to save him; the flat line tone of his heart monitor, echoing through the walls, telling them he had slipped away.

“Oh, God,” Mulan murmured. “What happened?”

“Car accident,” Belle said. “They were driving out of town one night, going to a concert in the next town over. They were fighting. Ruby was yelling at him about something he’d done, something stupid, so she blames herself, although it wasn’t her fault. He was distracted for a minute, and didn’t see a wolf come out of nowhere onto the road. He swerved, and the car tipped and rolled. They said the steering column crushed his chest. Ruby walked away with a few cuts and bruises, but Peter was a goner before the ambulance arrived.”

“Shit,” Mulan murmured. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Yeah,” Belle agreed. “So Ruby hates hospitals. And she doesn’t do relationships… present company excluded.”

Mulan nodded, “I can see why.”

“She was in love with him,” Belle said. “They were so right together, you could see it: they were supposed to live happily ever after.” She sighed, and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, exhaustion finally setting in. “But it didn’t work out, and she’s a whole different person now. Except when she’s with you. With you, I kind of see some of the old Ruby bleeding through again.”

Mulan bit the inside of her lip, and thought a moment before responding. “What’s different, then?”

“Well, the short shorts and the heels, for one,” Belle said. “Underage drinking, late nights, all the partying and the sex. I think she spent the next few years trying to kill the girl who’d loved Pete by running to the opposite extreme. In high school, she was more like me. She loved photography the way I love books, and she was… innocent, you know? She was very sensitive, soft and caring. And that’s still a part of her, somewhere. I see it when you two are together.”

“What’s a part of who?” Ruby asked, coming back into the waiting room. She handed the holdall back to Mulan, and seemed a lot more at ease in her jeans and plaid shirt than she had in her shorts. She took a seat next to Mulan, and snuggled in close.

“I was just waiting to ask Belle about Gold,” Mulan said, changing the subject with immense skill, for all it made every muscle in Belle’s body stiffen and panic. “No more secrets.”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Ruby nodded. “What happened last night?”

“Don’t we have more important things to worry about?” Belle asked. Ruby shook her head, her eyes wide and pleading.

“I asked a nurse in the hallway, and she just said Granny’s been been rushed to surgery, which we already fucking knew. Please, Belle? I need a distraction, and you owe me. If I have to think about Granny then I’m going to start crying again and just… please? Okay?”

“Okay,” Belle nodded, biting her lip hard to focus her mind. “So he invited me over last night, just to talk. I mean, it was never just to talk, since we had sex in the bathroom and-“

“Wait, again?” Mulan demanded. “When was this? I thought you guys only had sex in the shop!”

“At Bae’s birthday party,” Belle admitted, her face flushing with shame. Both her friends stared at her.

“Fucking hell,” Ruby muttered. “That’s skankier than anything I’ve ever done.”

“It just… happened,” Belle said, lamely. “But I had a gift for Bae so he said come by last night, and we had dinner, and then Bae went to bed and we…”

“ _Talked_ ,” Ruby supplied, with heavy innuendo.

“Yeah,” Belle finished. “Except there really wasn’t much talking. But then I had a nightmare about-“ she cut herself off midsentence, remembering her nightmare in a flash and wondering – just for a moment – about premonitions and bad omens.

“About what?” Mulan asked, sliding a hand into Belle’s, comfortingly. Belle clutched at her hard.

“About my dad,” she said, softly. “I dreamed about our last fight, and then he… he had his heart attack. Right in front of me.”

“Oh, God,” Ruby moaned, and buried her face in her hands.

“So I woke up,” Belle continued on, “I went looking for a distraction, but looking in on Bae just made me cry so I went to Cam’s study to find anything about the house and instead… okay, you know that anonymous offer?”

“Yeah…” Belle watched as realisation dawned on Mulan’s smooth face. “That was him, right?”

“Yep,” Belle popped the ‘p’, her anger flashing to the surface. “So I called him out on it, on how he’d lied and gone behind my back and tried to manipulate me, and you know what he told me?”

“What?” Ruby asked. Belle clenched her fist, her nails scoring into her palm.

“He sold the house to my dad a week before I left town, on the condition the profit made go to me, for my travel fund. That was why he went to the house that night, when he told papa about us. He bought me out of town, and ruined my family in the process. His blood money made my father turn on me. And now he’s done the same thing all over again, trying to pay me off behind my back. I mean… what sort of person does that?”

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Ruby growled, and looking at her then, Belle knew she meant it. “I’ll fucking _murder_ the bastard, kid or no kid. That nasty, lying, manipulative _asshole_.”

Belle swallowed, wishing she felt as vindicated as she felt she ought to. As it was, Ruby’s words only compounded her shame. What did it say about her that she still wanted him here with her now? That he was the person she wanted to call when Granny was in surgery and everything was burning? What the hell kind of person was she to know exactly what sort of man he was, and still love him as deeply and truly as she did?

Because she _did_ love him: she loved him with her whole heart, every part of him, the darkness and the light, the good and the evil; right or wrong, cruel or kind. She had loved him the day she rejected his proposal and broken their family; she had loved him that day in Florence, when she’d bought that bracelet and almost hoped she would find herself calling him, missing him more than she needed her next breath. She had loved him the moment she saw him again in the abandoned shop: even as he had sneered at her homelessness, her heart had been glad to see him again. She had loved him every day since, through every biting encounter, every tumultuous reunion, every kiss and every accusation.

Even now, when she hated his guts, she would rather he were here to yell at than hurting somewhere across town, miserable and licking his wounds.

It broke her heart that she loved him, when he’d hurt her so much.

Moe’s face flashed before her eyes again, contorted with anger, fists clenched and ready to strike. Gold had done that to him and yet… and yet Moe had flown into rages before, hadn’t he? He’d shouted like that when she missed curfew, when she didn’t call often enough from college, when she tried to hide his liquor. Just because they’d settled into coexistence those two years – and that because she’d lied to him, and hidden anything that could anger him – didn’t make him a saint.

Was there anything Gold could have said or done that night to warrant that reaction? There was no way he could have known what would happen, and she knew, deep in her gut, that he wouldn’t have said a word if he had. She’d never told him about Moe’s rages, his threats, for fear he might become reckless and overprotective. He’d taken her at her word that their relationship be kept a secret, and never questioned her motives.

It didn’t make what he’d done right, but his apology had to count for something. In all their time together, she had never seen him look as wrecked or as sincere as he had that morning.

He’d tried to tell her. She believed that, at least. She’d begged him to stop talking for fear of what he might say, what mistakes he might reveal, crimes he might confess to. Things had changed last night, and perhaps if she hadn’t gone snooping, and if Granny hadn’t collapsed, they might have had time to sit down in the harsh light of day and confess things better said softly than in screams.

“Belle?” Mulan prompted, squeezing her hands. “What is it?”

“I just… I want to hate him so much,” she said, and felt herself begin to cry yet again. Good God, she thought, she was sick to death of crying. “But I wish he were here now to hold my hand. After everything he’s done, why do I wish he was here now?”

“Maybe because deep down, you know you could have called home,” Ruby suggested, her voice blank and heavy, as if she couldn’t muster any more emotion. “You left and you never planned to come back, and that was okay, we understood. None of us resented you being busy, and life moved on. But you could have called your dad, and he could have called you. Gold started the fight between you but maybe… maybe somewhere deep down you know that either one of you could have ended it.”

“I tried,” Belle gasped. “Oh God, Ruby, I tried. I tried every day before I left town, and papa just changed the locks and refused to speak to me. He wouldn’t let me come home, so when I left, I didn’t try again. I figured he didn’t want to see me.”

Ruby’s eyes widened with sympathy, and she reached out and squeezed Belle’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I never knew it got so bad for you. I figured he just resented you leaving, and made you pack up early.”

“The last thing he said to me, he disowned me,” Belle said. “So I didn’t call.”

“Neither did he,” Mulan reminded her. “I mean, what Gold did was indefensible, I’m not arguing with that, but your dad didn’t have to listen. And he certainly didn’t have to cut off all contact. You told me he got violent that night, and I know he threw you out… he didn’t have to do any of that, no matter what Gold said to him.”

“Cam told me he didn’t mean for it to happen,” Belle said, numbly, twisting her fingers around and around, focusing on the movement and nothing else. “He told me he regrets it more than anything. He thought… he thought the money would keep him honest, keep me safe from anything he could do. He didn’t know papa would throw me out.”

“Do you believe him?” Mulan asked, after a long moment. “That he didn’t know what your dad would do? That his intentions were… if not good, then at least not actively terrible?”

“I never talked to him about papa,” Belle shrugged. “Only begged him not to say anything. There was no way he could have known, hell, I didn’t even know. He was so sorry when he told me this morning, but…”

“But he still lied to you,” Ruby filled in, finishing Belle’s thought. “For all that regret, it doesn’t sound like he changed his ways in the meantime.”

“He didn’t trust me, and so he wanted to make sure I left if I wanted to. In his own twisted way he offered me an escape hatch, and once upon a time I would have taken it. He had no assurance until last night that I wouldn’t this time, I guess. And after we reconciled last night… I don’t know. I guess I believe him that he was about to come clean. He was trying to tell me something last night but I… I stopped him. And he looked so remorseful this morning. We were supposed to have a proper talk today, and he claims he would have told me then. He came clean himself about my dad, at least, without any prompting. I wouldn’t have found out if he hadn’t.”

Mulan sighed. “So the question is what you do now.”

“I guess,” Belle murmured, looking down at her hands. “It seems so petty now to worry about my love life. At least Cam’s alive, at least we have the time to figure things out.”

“Everything seems petty now,” Ruby said. Belle nodded: there wasn’t anything else to say to that.

They sat in silence for a long time, for hours. They read the magazines littering the waiting area. They slept a little, all rested against one another. Belle fiddled with her phone; Mulan tried to distract Ruby with pictures from her trip to South America. One picture was of a family that had allowed Mulan to sleep in their back room for a couple of nights; Ruby burst into tears at the sight.

“I’d be an orphan, you know,” she wept, her head buried in Mulan’s shoulder. “I mean, I’m already an orphan, I guess, but still.”

Mulan nodded, not pressing any further for details as she stroked Ruby’s hair comfortingly. Eventually, Ruby’s eyes closed, exhausted from crying and anxiety, and Mulan looked at Belle, a question in her eyes.

“She never new her dad, and her mum died when she was fourteen,” Belle explained, softly. “A year after Granny adopted her. She had ovarian cancer. She didn’t want her kid to have to watch her die.”

“Oh.” Mulan looked down at Ruby’s dark head, a mix of wonder and heartbreaking sympathy in her eyes.

“That was how we bonded originally, you know,” Belle said, nodding to Ruby. “My mum had died a year earlier, just before we moved here. We were the only kids in school who knew what that felt like.”

Mulan nodded, her mouth pressed in a thin line as she reached out a hand to Belle, who squeezed it hard between both of her own. “Suddenly my mom’s obsession with my marital prospects doesn’t seem so bad,” she tried to joke. Belle managed a weak smile.

It was perhaps an hour later when Dr Whale finally came to find them, his expression grim. Ruby sat bolt upright, and rubbed her wet eyes. “Any news?”

“She’s out of surgery,” Whale told them. “She’s still in critical condition, but she’s stable for now.”

“Oh, thank god,” Ruby sighed, doubling over, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands.

“What does that mean?” Belle asked. Whale gave her a steady look.

“Well, we managed to repair the damage to her heart, but the surgery is hard on the body, especially for someone of Anne’s age. We have her in the ICU, and she’s intubated.”

“Intubated?” Belle asked, the words just washing over her. He may as well have been speaking Russian.

“It means a tube is breathing for her,” Whale explained, gently. “As I said, heart surgery is hard on the body. For now, we’re just waiting for her to wake up.”

“How long?” Ruby croaked, looking up at him. “How long until she wakes up?”

“We don’t know,” Whale admitted. “We’re hoping she’ll wake up within the next twelve hours.”

“But she will wake up?” Ruby demanded. “She’ll wake up and she’ll get better, right?”

“We’re doing all we can to make that happen, Ruby,” Whale assured her. “But it’s up to her now.”

Ruby nodded, and Mulan wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in to rest her head on Mulan’s shoulder. “Thank you, Doctor,” Mulan said. “When can we see her?”

“She’s in the ICU right now,” Whale explained. “But I can take you through if you want.”

Ruby nodded, and with Mulan’s help she rose to her feet, her hand clasped tight in Mulan’s. Belle took her other hand, and the three of them followed Dr Whale down the hallway to the ICU.

When they reached Granny’s room, Dr Whale opened the door and gestured for Belle, Mulan, and Ruby to enter. Granny lay unconscious on the bed, her eyes closed, her face pale and almost as grey as her hair. A tube lead from her mouth to a breathing machine by the bed; an IV hung from her limp right arm. A monitor beeped out a steady heartbeat.

“Oh, God,” Ruby whimpered. “Granny.”

She let go of their hands, and walked to Granny’s beside, picking up her right hand and cradling it in her own.

“She was fine yesterday,” Ruby whispered, her eyes on Granny’s pale face. She looked twenty years older now than she had the previous evening, and Belle felt sick to her stomach. Granny was old – well into her seventies – Belle had known that. It was another thing to see her like this, covered in wires and tubes, wrinkled and pale and weak. “You all saw her,” Ruby said. “She was healthy, she was fine, and now…”

“The good news is she has no comorbidities,” Whale offered. “She wasn’t sick to begin with, I mean: her heart is the only current issue. And she’s active and has a balanced diet. She has a good chance.”

“A chance,” Ruby nodded, her wide eyes stunned, heartbroken. “She has a _chance_.”

Belle swallowed, hard, around the lump in her throat. She wanted to go to Granny’s bedside and hold her other hand, to stroke her hair as Ruby now did, and whisper that she loved her like family, that she needed her to wake up. But her feet remained rooted to the ground. Belle couldn’t make herself move.

Yesterday, Granny had been questioning her whereabouts and scolding her to look after herself. Now she was laid out in a hospital bed, pale and barely breathing. She might never wake up. Belle couldn’t imagine a world without Granny: it didn’t just make sense.

Mulan squeezed her shoulder, and then went to stand with Ruby, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Could I speak to you outside?” Belle asked Dr Whale, “Please?”

“Of course,” Whale nodded, and led her back into the hallway. With Granny out of sight, Belle felt she could breath just a little easier through her constricted chest.

“Did… did my father have a chance?” Belle asked Whale. “I know I should… I should only be thinking of Granny, but… I need to know. He had a heart attack too. He… he died here a few months ago.”

“What was his name?” Whale asked. “I’m the attending cardio-thoracic surgeon on staff, so if it was a heart condition I would have treated him.”

“Maurice French,” Belle whispered. “My name’s Belle.”

“Ah yes, Mr French,” Whale nodded, his eyes sad, pressing his lips together as he tried to express what needed to be said. “Yes, I remember.”

“Please,” Belle begged. “I need to know… I wasn’t here. I wasn’t here and I should have been and I need to know what happened.”

“I’m so sorry, Miss French. Your father didn’t survive the surgery,” Whale said, gently. His hand came to rest on Belle’s arm, a silent apology. “His heart couldn’t come off the bypass, it was just too weak. It couldn’t beat on its own after we repaired the damage. I’m so sorry, Belle.”

“It’s okay,” she lied, shaking his hand off, stepping back. She looked through the window in the door to Granny’s room, and saw Ruby and Mulan had sat down in the two bedside chairs. Mulan was holding Ruby; Ruby was stroking Granny’s hair. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It was quick,” Whale offered. “If that helps at all.”

“How long… how long was it before they found him?”

“As I remember, he was with a customer when he collapsed. They called 911, but he was unconscious when the paramedics reached the scene. He didn’t suffer.”

“Good,” Belle nodded, thankful at least that he hadn’t died alone in a hospital bed, that he hadn’t lain for hours before someone found him. “I should have been here,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, taking a deep breath.

“Anne has a much better chance,” Whale assured her. “She’s very healthy and strong for her age, and her heart is strong, too. Your father was overweight and an alcoholic. Honestly, he should have come in for a work-up years ago. Anne has none of those risk factors, so she has as good a chance as anyone her age.”

“Thank you,” Belle nodded. Whale inclined his head.

“Please tell your friends that the ICU visiting hours end in thirty minutes,” he said. “After that, you’re welcome to wait back in the waiting area, and I’ll make sure the nurses keep you informed.”

“Thanks,” Belle said again, her mouth and throat dry. Dr Whale nodded again, and walked off briskly down the hall with one more pat to her shoulder.

Belle wiped her eyes, and re-joined Ruby and Mulan in Granny’s room. She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat before she spoke. “Dr Whale says we can stay here for another half hour,” she said, her voice shaky and hoarse, her eyes on Granny. “Then we have to go back to the waiting area, because visiting hours will be over. He says the nurses will keep us updated.”

“Okay,” Mulan nodded. Ruby’s eyes were still on Granny’s face, uncomprehending. Belle didn’t think she’d even heard her speak. She felt a wave of irrational jealousy for Ruby, just then: at least if Granny died, Ruby would know she’d known how much her granddaughter loved her. At least she would have had the chance to say goodbye, to know she’d done all she could. She wouldn’t find out from a transatlantic phone call, five years after her last words to the person who raised her had been “I hate you”.

Had Moe looked that pale, that old, that wasted, lying on the operating table? Belle had heard that stress could damage a person’s heart. She couldn’t help wondering whether the presence of his only child could have saved her father’s life. Whale had said he’d needed treatment years before his heart attack. She could have made sure he saw a doctor regularly, that he got the attention he needed. If she hadn’t left so quickly, if she’d just come home, her father would probably still be alive. They might have had a chance to fix things, to repair the damage between them.

But then, their relationship had been damaged for years, long before she left town. The fact that a word from Gold had been enough to send him into a blind rage said everything. Nothing should have been capable of doing that. He was an alcoholic, and hadn’t looked after himself since long before her mother had died. Maybe nothing could have saved him. Maybe he even deserved to die alone.

“I… I can’t be here,” Belle stammered, shaking her head, stepping back toward the door. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t be here. I have to go.”

“Belle?” Mulan frowned, rising to her feet, but Belle held out a hand for her to remain where she was.

“It’s okay,” she managed, swallowing convulsively. “It’s okay I just, I need to walk or run or I don’t know, something. I can’t just stay here and do nothing. If she wakes up tell her I love her, ok? Call me, please, call me if she wakes up.”

“Belle what is it?” Mulan asked. “What’s happened?”

“My dad died like this,” Belle said, and Mulan’s face cleared with understanding. “I can’t stay here and watch… I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She backed out of the door, and marched off down the hallway, breaking into a run when she left the ER doors. She pulled her coat tight around her and took off down the road, back toward town. She didn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Gold and Belle reunite


	25. Snow Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the unthinkable has happened - Inheritance!Rumbelle are in a better place by FAR than canon!Rumbelle. It's all up from here, folks!

As Gold drove back into Storybrooke, his mind raced.

He ran through the few places in town Belle might flee to. His first assumption was that she’d go home to the Inn, but he thought it unlikely considering it was where Granny had been found, and presumably stood empty right then. It was, however, his best starting point. Perhaps she wasn’t as emotionally distressed as her friends had said. Perhaps she’d walked back to town, regained a sense of herself and her responsibilities, and gone to clear things up at the diner.

It was unlikely, considering what he knew of Belle. He doubted that, with Granny in critical condition and the weight of her father’s death finally closing in on her, a brisk walk would be enough to settle her soul. The injury to his hand, still aching where he rested it on the steering wheel, prevented his anger for her carelessness. He had done far worse than wander off into the woods at far less provocation just that morning, after all.

It was impossible to believe that twelve hours ago, she had been curled up against him in his bed, her body wrapped around his, a smile on her lips. Now Belle was wandering Storybrooke alone and distraught, her world collapsing around her ears, and he had no idea how to find her. She’d said she didn’t want to see him again, but she needed someone with her right now.

He rolled up in front of the diner, and saw Ashley Boyd sat in the window, grim-faced and alone. He sighed inwardly: the last thing he wanted to do was deal with young Miss Boyd. She hated him with a sort of childish certainty, as if he were her own personal bogeyman, a villain in the truest sense of the word. She wouldn’t speak to him to take his order in the diner, much less tell him if she’d seen Belle.

Belle’s face flashed into his mind from that morning, horrified and murderous in his study, tears welling in her perfect blue eyes. If he’d told her the truth, if he had been brave enough to trust her and let her in rather than keeping secrets and going behind her back, then she might have come to him this morning rather than vanishing into the wind. He looked back at Ashley Boyd. The universe had a way of ensuring every man must pay his penance, it seemed.

“We’re closed,” Ashley told him sharply, as he entered the diner and heard the bell jangle over the door. “Granny’s in the hospital.”

She said it as an accusation, as if he were the one who’d put her there, and he told her so. She snorted. “You tortured the poor woman,” she said, “Every month here demanding the rent, strutting about like you own the place. Stress causes heart attacks, you know. Her blood’s on your hands.”

“Normally, Miss Boyd, I would even take a certain sadistic pleasure in explaining everything wrong with that statement. Alas, today is not a normal day. I need to find Belle French, I understand she lives here.”

“Go to hell.”

“Already there, dear,” he smiled, thinly. “Now, have you seen Miss French?”

“Hasn’t she suffered enough?” Ashley demanded. “Granny could be dying and you bullied her dad into an early grave as well. Even if I had seen her I wouldn’t tell you.”

“So you haven’t seen her,” he surmised, not touching any of those other comments. “Thank you, Miss Boyd, that was all I needed to know.” He couldn’t resist a glance at her swollen belly, eight months along and straining under her loose dress. “Get some rest, would you?” he said, baring his teeth, “Stress is harmful to an infant.”

He left before she had a chance to reply, feeling just a little ashamed of how invigorated taunting Ashley Boyd made him feel. The ungrateful little chit spat and snarled at him every chance he got, and for once he felt her hatred was entirely undeserved. It wasn’t his fault, after all, if her baby’s paternal grandfather was the sort of presumptuous, patriarchal figure who would sign adoption papers behind the expectant mother’s back: all he’d done was find the child a good home with a family in Portland. Of all the people in town who loathed him, Ashley Boyd bore the largest grudge, and for the least reason.

Gold got back into his car, and the reality hit that his one real lead – Granny’s diner – had dried up. Belle was still out there missing, wandering in the falling snow, cold and alone and grieving, and he had no idea where to begin his search.

He started with the library as a shot in the dark, unsurprised to find it locked up without so much as a sign on the door. He looked over the road as he returned to his car, and caught sight of his own sign hanging above his shop. Once, he thought, in another time or perhaps another life, he might have gone back there and found her huddled in the back room under the blankets on the cot, seeking sanctuary in his space. Now he didn’t even bother to look: she was more likely to have magically transported herself to another realm than to have sought comfort in his lair.

The thought of the shop did inspire another idea, however. Game of Thorns was at the other end of Main Street, so he drove to avoid the slippery pavements. If he drove the same distance again further down the road out of town, he would reach the convent, the chapel, and the cemetery hill upon which her father was buried. He was a little disappointed in himself that it hadn’t been his first guess. After all, where else would her grief lead her than to places that reminded her of her father?

If she wasn’t at her surrogate-parent’s diner or her treasured library, then that left either Moe French’s livelihood or his graveside.

The door was unlocked when he let himself into the abandoned shop, and Gold let himself hope for a moment. Perhaps she had taken shelter in here, and would be easy to pry out. Perhaps she had just come to collect something.

Once inside, however, he was taken aback by the stench of decay and mildew, by the emptiness of dark, bare shelves that had once bloomed bright with a thousand different colours, and the rotting soil trodden deep into the floorboards. It was as if the house had died with Moe. It now stood an empty, moulding shell of what it had once been, the life drained and the body left to decompose.

He had such fond memories of this place, of surprising Belle here on her fathers’ days off, of her secret smiles he came for the rent and she insisted her father wait inside while she followed the promised cheque with a kiss. He would buy a hundred red roses under an assumed name on the weekend, just to give her an excuse to deliver them to his home and catch a moment or two together. Moe French had owned and run the place, but it had always been Belle who gave it life.

“Belle?” he called, as he allowed the door to close behind him, and made his way slowly through the shop and into the back room. He could see the back door standing ajar, and an icy breeze whistled through, raising gooseflesh on his arms even through his thick coat and suit. “Belle, are you here?”

There was no response, but he still followed that wind through the back and out into the garden. Nowhere was the decay of this place more obvious than out here, he thought, as he closed the back door behind him. This place had been a paradise, the second piece of proof that Moe French – however ugly and useless his soul, however unkind and suspicious his heart – was somehow capable of producing accidental beauty with his clumsy hands. Roses had bloomed from trellises lining the walls; flowerbeds overflowing with every colour of the rainbow had surrounded on all sides, flanked by flowering bushes and surrounding a lush, verdant lawn.

Now, untended and unkempt, the garden had become neglected and overgrown. The once-neat borders had become wild, the plants overlapping and tangling and strangling one another. Without Moe’s careful husbandry, the roses on the trellises had wrapped tight to form a mythical wall of thorns and vines, and the grass now reached Gold’s shins. In the dead of winter, with every vine and stem smothered by the frost and falling snow, the lawn covered in dead leaves from the overhanging trees and the soil soaked from rain, it was not so much a paradise as a wasteland.

Only one element had survived in tact. The apple tree stood in the far corner: Belle’s favourite part of her home. It had been the first part of the garden her father had planted, from a clipping of its parent tree from her mother’s garden in Melbourne. In a very real sense, Moe had given new life to his wife’s memory when he’d planted that tree. She had sat on the bench beneath it for hours, reading and thinking and daydreaming about her future adventures. She had called it her favourite place in the world.

He found her sat on that very bench, staring at that wall of vines with unseeing eyes. Snowflakes and fallen and become trapped in her hair, melting to soak through her curls; her hands were chapped and red, shaking from the cold. Her face was swollen, her nose red from the cold and from crying. Her eyes were empty, desolate, bereft. Belle looked like a statue someone had carved of grief itself: cast in marble, unreachable as the moon.

“Belle?” he tried, stepping closer, the grass crunching beneath his feet as he crossed the lawn. “Belle?”

She pressed her lips harder together, and he knew then that she’d heard him.

“It’s freezing out here, sweetheart,” he said. “You should come inside and get warm.”

“I’m fine,” she managed. Her teeth chattered. “Get lost.”

“You’re frozen,” he countered, taking a seat beside her on the bench. He covered her hand with his for a second, and felt her hands shake, her skin cold as ice. “You’re no good to Granny with hypothermia, come on.”

“No,” she tensed and pulled away from him. Her eyes never left the dead rose bushes. “I’m staying here. I’m staying here until my papa comes home and apologises, and I can do the same.”

“Your father died, Belle,” he reminded her, anxiety rapidly growing into panic. He didn’t know what he’d do if her mind had slipped, pushed over the edge by all the tragedy and heartache of the last few months, and she fell into madness. “Remember? Nearly four months ago now.”

“I know that,” she snapped, and he breathed a sigh of relief, his breath clouding in the frozen air. “I know that,” she repeated, softer. “But he’s not… he’s not at his grave. I went there but I couldn’t feel him. When my mum died… when she died I could always feel her here, under this tree. But the roses were papa’s, and the roses are dead. Even _here_ he’s still dead.”

“The roses aren’t dead,” Gold told her, softly. “The vines are strong and alive, it’s just winter. With some help they’ll come back next spring.”

“You should go,” she sighed, shaking her head, but he saw her shoulders loosen, saw some of that hateful tension bleed away. “I feel like I’m betraying him by letting you be here. I need you to not be here.”

“You never felt that way before,” he reminded her.

“Things were different then,” she replied. “Papa was still alive, and you hadn’t driven us apart yet. There was still time.”

“Belle…” Gold pursed his lips, “I told you how sorry I am. But… I can’t take responsibility for what came after. I said what I said but he chose to act on it. He chose to cut you off and shut you out, not I.”

“You never called either,” she said, and for the first time Gold wondered if maybe, somewhere beneath all that fire and anger, she had wanted him to. If maybe things might have been better if he’d only found the bravery and humility to pick up the phone. “And neither did I.”

“We all allowed those wounds to fester,” Gold said. “You left; I pushed you out; Moe locked the door.”

“You always think you have so much time,” said Belle, her lips turning blue from cold, tears rolling down her cheeks unheeded and unchecked. Gold wished he hadn’t given his handkerchief to Ruby; he had no way of brushing them away. “I thought papa and I had years left to reconcile. I thought Granny would go another twenty years yelling at Ruby and me to take better care of ourselves. But now my papa is dead, and he died thinking I hated him and he died hating me, and Granny’s in the hospital and she… she might never wake up.” She bowed her head, sobbing openly, her shoulders shaking. Gold’s hand crept out to rub her back, and she didn’t shirk him away this time.

“He didn’t die hating you, Belle,” Gold promised, unable to believe he was defending Moe French but believing every word he said. “He died not sure how to say it, maybe, but he left you this house. Everything he cared about, he left to you. And Granny’s a tough old bird. She’ll live to glare at me over the rent payment for years to come.”

Belle snorted at that, a wet approximation of a laugh. “She really hates you, you know,” she said.

“I can’t say I care,” Gold shrugged. “As long as she’s good to you and pays her rent, her feelings are her prerogative. I probably deserve it.”

“I should hate you too,” Belle told him. He didn’t allow himself to hope at her use of the conditional. “Any other day, I would.”

“Any other day, you would cuss me out to kingdom come, and refuse to speak to me ever again,” he said. Belle nodded.

“Because you lied to me, and you hurt me, and I don’t think you cared while you did. My papa would have hurt me that night and he made me homeless, and you paid him off to do it. I shouldn’t want you anywhere near me.”

“I care,” he said. “I cared then, too. And had I known…”

“I came to tell you,” Belle said, the dull statement an accusation. “The next day, I left Will’s and I came and hammered on the door for hours. You didn’t let me in.”

“I should have,” he said, the words coming easily now he had opened the floodgates. “I should have apologised then and there. I thought that by buying him off, I could prevent him from getting in your way. I was trying to help, as much as I was trying to be rid of you. I never thought he’d hurt you like he did.”

“Neither did I,” Belle admitted. “I wasn’t afraid he’d get violent, he never had before. He blustered and yelled and threatened to lock me away, but I never thought he’d throw me out: he’d always been too protective for that.”

“Then what were you afraid of?” Gold asked. Belle shrugged.

“I didn’t want him to hate me, or try to stop me,” she told him, softly. “He was an alcoholic, and we fought all the time before I went away to college, but he hadn’t yelled since I’d moved home. I thought if I could just make him think I was the perfect daughter he wanted, maybe he would let me leave with his blessing. I still love him, you know? I mean, he was my father… so what did I do to him?” she demanded, helplessly. “Come on, Cam. You know all my faults. What in the world did I do to make my own father hate me that much?”

“Nothing!” he rushed to assure her, appealing to her even as her eyes stayed locked on the rose arbour. “Nothing, Belle. Nothing you could have done warranted that reaction. And… I pulled a gun on him,” Gold reminded her. “What he did, he did believing that he could face physical consequences, even though the gun was never loaded. The intention to scare him was there.” He waited for the cry of horror, for her to take flight again. It terrified him when she didn’t blink.

“It doesn’t matter,” she shook her head. “Not anymore. Nothing you did should have made him act that way toward his own daughter. All I was trying to do was live my life.” She snorted through her nose, a bitter approximation of a laugh. “Will was the only one who tried to help me, but at least you got the hell out of my way.”

“No, I didn’t.” Gold sighed. “Even as I tried to remove Moe from the equation, I just made things worse. I only wanted you gone, Belle. I wanted your rejection of me to be final so I could forget about you, the same way I did with that stupid anonymous offer. And both times, I didn’t want you to hurt, not really.”

“You didn’t care one way or the other,” Belle spat.

“On the contrary, I cared far too much,” Gold muttered. “If I hadn’t, I would have let you go without another word. My _caring_ was what got you hurt.” He swallowed hard, trying to express himself, to get this right. This was his last chance, he knew that: he had to make it count. “I wouldn’t have gone to him, if I’d known what he would do. I thought he’d shout, and you’d storm out with my money, and that would be that. I thought you could both blame me, and reconcile within days. I never thought he’d be in the same league as my father, and throw you into the street.”

“Your father did the same thing?” she asked, and for a moment beneath her terrifying dead tone, there was a tremor of something else. He nodded.

“He told me he wished I’d never been born,” Gold said. “I suppose I should be thankful that he thought to leave me with his aunts, rather than just abandon me in the street. I was eight years old, and I didn’t see him again for another twenty.”

“What happened then?” Belle asked, her voice so small it broke his heart.

“Would you believe I bought him off?” Gold asked, and Belle’s expression hardened. “I paid him to leave me alone,” he clarified. “He came sniffing for blackmail when he heard I’d made my fortune, and so I paid for his absence. A few months later, I got news he’d thrown himself in the Clyde.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle said, but her voice was flat, devoid of feeling. He’d always cursed Belle’s emotionalism, her inability to hold her feelings in check. To hear her so empty and lifeless now made him miss her thunderstorms.

“Don’t be. He never cared what happened to me, and in the long run he did me a favour, leaving when he did. I wasn’t much of a son, too needy and weak to be of any use. But you were always the most valuable thing Moe French had in his life. I couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting you, wanting to hurt you. I suppose it never occurred to me that two such different fathers could be so similar.”

“You thought you could pay off Moe, the way you did your own father,” Belle murmured. “God, you’re even more messed up than I thought.”

“You make me wish I wasn’t,” he told her, earnestly. “Belle, when I look at you, I… I want to be the man I was when I was with you, before I fell victim to paranoia and weakness. I want to go back to the best version of me, the man who wouldn’t have lied, or kept secrets, or tried to drive you away. I want to be better for you, Belle. I want to be the man you deserve.”

“But how?” she asked. “How am I supposed to believe you’re not going to do the same goddamn thing all over again the moment I do something you disapprove of? How am I supposed to trust that feeling when it could change so quickly?”

“Because something terrible happened to you today, but you’re still here” he said. “You’ve had your whole world cave in, but you’re still speaking, still trying to make things better for yourself and everyone else. Because your face lights up when you look at Bae, and I swear that boy thinks you hung the moon. Because you brought me a souvenir, and you have a thousand new stories but you still smile like you used to. Because I was _wrong_ , Belle, every time I believed my worst instincts about you, and I know that now. I was wrong to deny you what you needed, when you gave me everything I could ever want just by being with me, even just for a little while. I owed you so much better than that. I won’t make the same mistake again, and I have this to remind me.”

He raised his wrist to show her the bracelet that still hung on his wrist. For the first time, she looked at him, and he saw her eyes take it in as the silver bead caught the light.

“What happened to your hand?” she asked, concern flooding her voice as she took his hand in both of hers. He winced when her fingers traced the bruising through the bandage. He tried to think of an honest answer that didn’t sound manipulative. He didn’t want her to think she couldn’t turn her back on him, couldn’t give him a fight he richly deserved, without him harming himself as a consequence.

“I was a little… forceful in clearing up the study this morning,” he said, at last. “I was upset. My own fault, I assure you.”

“That was stupid,” she muttered. He nodded.

“More or less stupid than spending two hours sat in the snow in the world’s thinnest coat?” he asked. She didn’t reply. “Come home with me?” he begged, “Please?”

“I’m fine here,” she lied, and when she removed her hands from his he felt frozen to the bone, bereft.

“You said last night that you trusted me,” he tried. “I wasn’t worthy of it, but I really was trying to come clean this morning. I know it will take more than an apology to repair that, however sorry I am. But I wasn’t lying when I said the same. I _trust_ you, Belle. I trust you not to run away, I trust you with Bae, and I trust you in my home. I trust you the way I always should have before.” He sighed, and hung his head, trying to form the right words, the words he should have been screaming all this time but until now he’d failed to say: “I love you, Belle. I’ve loved you all this time. Please let me try to show it?”

She didn’t reply to that. For a long moment she just stared at the snow, as if she would melt away into it, become as cold and uncaring as the frost. His words lay between them, unacknowledged but heard and felt. For the first time in his life, Gold felt a truly selfless feeling bloom in his chest for someone other than his son. He didn’t care if she said them back or not: he loved her regardless, and would continue to do so forever. It had been folly to ever believe anything else.

“I’m so cold, Cam,” she whimpered at last, shaking all over. “And I just want to stop feeling like this.”

“I know,” he nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and taking his cane in his good hand, hauling them both to their feet. “I know. Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”

Gold shed his coat, shivering in the frozen air as he wrapped it around Belle’s shoulders. She tugged it closer around her, and only now did he notice that she had changed out of her blue dress and heels at some point, and had leggings and flat boots under her coat instead. He was thankful for that small mercy: at least she hadn’t risked her neck on the ice on her way here.

He reached out a hand, and Belle took it, her thin, cold fingers wrapping around his in a grip far firmer and surer than she looked. He felt a rush of warmth at the contact, at the trust and the comfort implicit in the gesture. He led her from the garden, back through the mildewing shop and to the Cadillac. She slipped inside and closed the door, clipping her seatbelt as he got in the driver’s side.

The drive home was silent: Belle stared out of the window, and Gold had to focus on the icy roads and the snow coming down in drifts. He would have to call Leroy and ensure his drive was cleared before the following morning, or else risk being snowed in.

He let them inside as quickly as he could, fumbling only a little with the key in the lock. Belle was still silent, eerily so, standing behind him with his coat draped over her own, watching his progress with blank eyes. The door swung open; he pulled her inside with him quickly, closing the door before any of the trapped warmth could escape.

He expected her to take off her shoes, to shed her coat, or at least to say something. It was unnerving the way she just stood there, pliant and helpless as a paper doll, her hair dripping onto the floor, his coat swamping her tiny frame, her eyes huge in her pale face. He took her coats from her, and although she shrugged out of them as he helped her, she still made no move to act for herself. It was as if she had left some essential part of her soul behind in that garden, the part of her that allowed her to think and speak, leaving her a numb, shocked shell.

“Have you eaten?” he asked her, when their coats were hung by the door and she still hadn’t moved. She shook her head slowly, her soaked curls swaying with the motion. “Okay,” he said. “Why don’t you take a seat in the front room and get warm, and I’ll heat you up some soup?”

She pursed her lips, and for a moment he thought she might start to cry again. She didn’t meet his eyes, but when she nodded again he knew she had at least heard him. He led her by the arm into the living room and urged her to sit on the couch where – not twenty-four hours ago – she had smiled and laughed and told bright, animated tales of her travels. The juxtaposition between that lively, incorrigible woman and this hollow, broken girl made his heart ache. He’d helped do this to her. He couldn’t change the past, but he could try and make it up to her now.

He knelt at the grate and lit a fire, turning the gas flame up high to warm the room quickly. When he looked back at her, Belle was watching him intently. “You need to warm up,” he told her, as if it weren’t obvious. She nodded. “Please say something,” he begged her as he rose to his feet, “Please, Belle.”

This wasn’t the way of things, he thought, these weren’t their roles. His Belle – the Belle he knew, at least – was always talking no matter her mood. She only grew quiet when something truly, deeply unsettled her. He had never known her this silent.

“Soup sounds good,” she managed, although he saw the effort the words took her. He sighed with relief, and nodded.

“Then soup it is. Are you warming up at all?”

She shrugged, and tugged at a lock of sodden hair. “My head’s still cold,” she said. He nodded.

“I’ll get the soup warming, and fetch a towel,” he promised. “Oh, and this might help.” He reached out to the thick woollen blanket slung over the back of his armchair; a leftover from the last time Bae had been sick and slept downstairs. He spread it out and tucked it around her shoulders, encouraged when she reached out to the edges with her hands and pulled it closer around her. She looked far too small sitting there, drowned by the heavy blanket, sinking into the couch cushions, those massive blue eyes blinking out from behind thick curls of soaked dark hair. “There,” he said, softly. “Any better?”

“Yes,” she said, as if trying to convince herself. “Thank you.”

She tried to smile at him, and failed miserably. It was still so much better than that blank horror, and impulsively he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She moved forward on instinct, leaning into his touch. He was encouraged to see just a little colour returning to her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered again. He nodded.

“Soup,” he said, as he straightened. “And a towel.”

He left the door to the kitchen open while he dumped the chilled remains of homemade vegetable soup into a pan and turned on the heat. It would take a few minutes to warm through, so he took the time to fetch a hair towel from the laundry room.

His hands were shaking, but he ignored it. It didn’t matter if the events of the past twenty-four hours had given him emotional whiplash, or if she still confused and scared the wits out of him, or even if Bae came home to find her here. What mattered was that Belle was frozen to the bone and facing the loss of everything she held dear, all at once, and that no one else was in any position to help her. In a very real sense, in that moment Gold knew that he and Bae were all the family Belle had left in the world.

For that was what she was, what she always had been, and what she always would be: family. And he would always, always look after his family. He’d done a terrible job so far, with her. He’d thrown her to her father’s mercy out of blind selfishness; he’d berated and damaged her, manipulated and lied. No more, he thought. From now on, he would stand by her, love her with honesty and courage, the way he should have all along.

He returned to her with her soup, a mug of tea and the towel, setting the food on the coffee table and sitting himself down beside her. He had made enough for two, it being almost two in the afternoon by now and his stomach having growled at the smell of the soup cooking.

Gold offered her the towel, but she didn’t accept it. Sighing, he instead wrapped the towel around her hair, and began to dry it himself, the way he would Bae’s messy curls after a bath. She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as her shoulders relaxed. He inched closer to gain a better angle, working the towel through her hair, squeezing the water from it. Her eyes opened when his hands settled for a moment on her shoulders, and he smiled warmly, encouragingly. He was about to ask her if she wanted to do this for herself, but then she breathed, “Please, don’t stop.”

He nodded, not trusting his voice. He began to work the towel through her hair again, slower this time. She was mostly dry now, the melted snow absorbed by the towel, and her eyes drifted closed again when his knuckles brushed her cheek on the way down. There was something unspeakably intimate about this, he thought: drying her hair by the fire, her head rolling into his hands, close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin.

Regretfully, he judged her hair to be dry, and removed the towel. She caught his wrist as he withdrew, “Thank you,” she breathed, and he nodded, shakily.

“Any time,” he said. Her eyes opened, hooded and unknowable, and met his gaze. He knew she knew he meant it. “I could apologise again, if that would help?” he suggested, although he knew it wouldn’t. “I’m so, so sorry Belle.”

“You know when you say a word too many times, and it loses all meaning?” Belle asked, with a sigh. “I think we’ve reached that place. ‘Sorry’ has lost its meaning.”

A knot tightened in his throat, and he nodded, not trusting his voice. That was that, then: he had ruined what chance at reconciliation they might have had, and all because he’d been too cowardly to trust her, to tell her the truth. Now it was too late.

“But you’re still here,” he noted, grasping at straws. She hadn’t let go of his wrist.

She was silent for a long moment, a line appearing between her eyebrows as she tried to form an answer. She didn’t seem to know what to say. Maybe she didn’t understand this any better than he did. The thought was comforting in its way, as if they were somehow in this together.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I’m here. I thought this morning that I’d never come back, and yet here I am. It’s not even been twelve hours,” she breathed a bitter half-laugh, and shook her head at herself, letting go of him and burying her face in her hands. “How pathetic is that? I can’t even find the bravery to stay away from you anymore.”

He felt a small surge of anger at that, at the idea that somehow this situation could be divided into right and wrong, that she could be expected to make perfect choices today, on the worst day of her life. She had always been so stern with herself. She held herself to such a very high standard, and expected the same of everyone else: balancing on a tightrope and punishing herself for every slip. And the inverse, he supposed, was true for him. He expected nothing at all, worse than nothing, and every action he took was designed to create a safety net for when the inevitable fall occurred.

“You chose shelter over freezing to death,” he corrected, trying to keep his voice gentle and not allow his irritation to show. “How in the world is that weakness?”

“I should have stayed at the hospital,” Belle replied, and she sounded so angry with herself that it stopped his tongue. “Instead I ran away and hid in the snow and you’re right, I could have got hypothermia or worse. Then where would Ruby and Mulan be? What would Granny say if she ever wakes up?”

“They’d say you’ve been through an incredibly hard time, and reached your breaking point.” He held up his bandaged hand, and for the first time Belle seemed to notice it. Her eyes widened. “Everyone has a limit.”

“Like that?” she asked, her voice small. He nodded.

“This morning I was a selfish coward, and I destroyed something that means a great deal to me. Something I worry now cannot be repaired. I felt the need to take that out on my desk.”

“I nearly let myself freeze to death,” Belle said. “Because my abusive father died four months ago, and I couldn’t admit it until today.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she sank forward over her knees, her body bent double as she collapsed into wrenching sobs. Gold rose to his feet, unsure of how to proceed. In the end, he followed his instincts and sat down beside her, wrapping one arm around her back and stroking her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, rubbing her back slowly as she wept. He didn’t care if the word held no meaning for her now, if he’d said it too often, if she’d heard it too goddamn many times at this point for it to count. It was all he had left to say. “I’m so sorry, Belle.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she fell to her side, her head in his chest as he sighed, and allowed both arms to surround her. She cried until it seemed she had nothing left in her, and he hoped that this would be a turning point for her, that this would release that terrible tension she’d been carrying for so very long. She was always so strong, always so private about her feelings, burying her suffering so deep that he supposed even she often couldn’t see it. She’d never said a word about her father’s abuse, about her mother’s death, about any of it, not once in the two years they had been together. He’d never even thought to ask.

How long had she been hurting like this, without expressing it? How much of this had been brewing since long before Moe French’s heart gave out?

At last, she fell quiet and limp against him, the storm passed for now. He coaxed her to eat her soup while he did the same. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t want to force her, not yet. The soup brought a little more warmth back to her cheeks, and her eyes soon grew drowsy, heavy and puffy from crying and from exhaustion.

She fell asleep curled on the sofa with her feet pressed to his thigh, and her head pillowed on her arm, wrapped in a blanket.

Gold stroked a hand over her hair, and when she didn’t stir he knew she was out cold. Sighing, he rose from the sofa, cleared their lunch away, and went to make a phone call. He couldn’t bear the idea of asking Belle to leave, but Bae would need to spend the night at the Nolans’ if she was to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Belle wakes up, and secrets are finally revealed


	26. Atlas Hands

When Belle woke up, everything was dark.

For a moment – a beautiful, confusing moment – she had no idea where she was. Something smelled familiar, comforting and warm, and she felt a blanket on her shoulders. She wasn’t in a bed; she was sat at an odd angle. But then, she’d crashed on enough couches over the years that that didn’t narrow it down.

Hadn’t it been daytime, before? When had it become night?

She sat up, and as the blood rushed from her head she remembered the previous day. She had fallen asleep on Gold’s sofa, after crying herself sick on his shoulder. Because Granny was in the hospital: Granny had had a heart attack, just like Moe. Granny could be dead by now.

Belle’s stomach dropped out, and she clung desperately to the innocence of the previous moments, before she’d remembered. She scrambled on the floor for her bag and her phone. “Shit,” she muttered, frantically. “Shit, shit.”

Her phone was full of texts from Mulan and Ruby, desperately worried about her whereabouts. But when she checked the conversation, she found two identical texts had been sent from her phone at 3pm that day: _Found Belle, have her safe, will have her call you when she wakes up – Gold_

The only responses had been strings of question marks, unanswered. She replied to both of them with the same message, guilt knotting in her belly. The worst day of Ruby’s life, and she’d gone and made it worse.

_Awake now, still at Gold’s. Will explain everything tomorrow, promise, sorry for vanishing. How’s Granny?_

Mulan replied within minutes, relieving some of her worry: _You’d better. Granny’s still asleep, but her vitals are looking good. They hope she’ll wake by morning._

Belle swallowed hard, thankful for a little good news, even if it wasn’t the miraculous recovery she’d been hoping to hear. _Good news. Get some sleep, and give Ruby my love. See you tomorrow – xxx_

She’d expected that to be the end of the conversation, Mulan sent one final message before Belle put her phone down: _Thank Gold for me, for finding you. Was v worried. Goodnight x_

“Ah,” the man in question spoke from behind her, and she sat up straighter, looking up from her phone to look at him. “You’re awake, good.”

“You used my phone?” she demanded, knowing she ought to be furious at the breach of privacy. In fact, she felt too drained from the day before to feel much of anything, as if everything that had been so violent and frantic inside of her had been scooped out and removed, and she was left with this rational, stunned shell.

“It seemed more expedient than using my own,” he returned, with a shrug. “I would have had to use it to find the correct cell numbers either way, and I had promised your friends I would let them know if I found you. I didn’t snoop through your photographs or text messages, if you’re worried. I simply sent the messages to calm your friends’ minds, then left you to sleep. I assume you didn't intend for them to be left worrying for your safety unduly?”

Belle nodded, allowing herself to be mollified. For all his deceptions and machinations, he was a deeply private person himself and rarely disrespected that in others. She was the one who had the track record for snooping, after all. What would he have had to gain, anyway?

“How did you guess my passcode?” she asked. He snorted.

“I tried your birthday,” he said. “And when that failed I tried Bae’s. Worked like a charm.”

She offered him a small smile at that, and took a deep breath. “What time is it?”

“Around eight,” he said. “I have pasta cooking for dinner.”

“I should be getting back to the hospital,” she replied, shaking her head. “I should be with them.”

“Visiting hours end at seven-thirty,” he said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and easing her back to sit down. His bandaged hand: the hand he’d damaged in his frustration at being caught out. She took a deep, shuddering breath: they clearly had a lot to talk about. “You’re not going back tonight. You’re staying here.”

“Am I?” she challenged, instinctively.

“Well, if you want to,” he shrugged, withdrawing from her and leaning on his cane. “If you wish to return to your room at the inn, of course that is your prerogative.”

“I’m sure you don’t want Bae to find me here,” she said, casting her eyes around for the boy. If it was eight he should have been home hours ago. She looked to Gold with a question in her eyes.

“He’s at the Nolans’,” he explained. “They were kind enough to take him for the night, as I didn’t know how long you would sleep. He was thrilled at the idea, in fact: there were apparently plans for hot chocolate and video games in his immediate future.”

“Ah,” Belle nodded, a knot forming in her throat. “So you still don’t want me around him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gold objected, waving a hand. “I simply didn’t wish to overwhelm you. He would have a hundred questions, and I believe we need time to talk, do we not?”

“Yes,” she agreed, reluctantly. “I believe we do.”

“Then stay,” he all but pleaded. “We can have dinner and talk like adults. Who knows, we might even avoid name-calling and screaming this time.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” she muttered, and he gave a soft laugh that found the smallest of echoes in her.

“I’ll serve up,” he said. She nodded, and made to follow him into the kitchen. “No, no,” he held up a hand. “Don’t get up. I can bring it in here.”

“The fuss you used to make about eating in the living room,” she snorted. “And now twice in one day!”

“Don’t tell Bae,” he cautioned, the barest glint of humour in his dark eyes. “He’ll get ideas. But for tonight, propriety can be set aside. You’ve had quite enough to deal with for one day, I think.”

“What, between our fight, Granny’s heart-attack, and almost freezing to death?” she muttered. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

He didn’t dignify her sarcasm with a response, instead returning to the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later with two steaming plates of spaghetti bolognaise, and handed her one as he sat beside her with the other. They ate in somewhat awkward silence, neither of them wanting to prematurely start the dreaded conversation, focusing a little too closely on their food. It was one thing to mutually admit the need to talk, Belle thought: it was another to open one’s mouth and begin.

“My mother died when I was twelve,” she blurted, at last. He looked at her in surprise, and swallowed his mouthful of pasta before answering. She spoke again before he could. “You knew that,” she said. “I told you that years ago. Everyone knows that. My mum died, and dad moved us out here, basically to get us away from her family. My mum’s family always hated my dad. She died in March and I started Storybrooke Middle School in September.”

“That’s… a lot for a child to deal with,” Gold replied, carefully. Belle nodded. “Listen,” Gold said, “We don’t have to do this now. Whatever you feel you need to tell me can wait a few days, until the dust settles and you’re able to gain better footing. You’ve had enough to cope with today without my piling on more.”

Belle swallowed hard, and took a sip of the juice Gold had poured for her. He was watching her closely, waiting for her to reply. She considered his words carefully, but the stories she needed to tell, the questions she needed to ask, had brimmed closer to the surface than ever before and it was an effort just keeping them inside. “No,” she said, at last. “No I need to say this now. I think it has to be today. Tomorrow I’ll find a hundred reasons to keep my mouth shut, and we’ll be back to square one. If we roll it up in everything else, then we can cope with the fallout later.”

“That’s one hell of a perspective,” Gold replied. Belle shrugged.

“I figure this is rock bottom,” she said. “Might as well set up camp.”

“Is this… about your father, then?” he asked. “About what happened between us? Because I believe you know the measure of that now, I told you everything this morning-“ she held up her hand to silence him, and shook her head.

“I can’t think about him right now,” she begged. “When I… when I think of him my chest closes up and I can’t breathe, let alone speak or think straight. And Ruby was right, you know? He could have given me the benefit of the doubt, rather than flying off the handle. I could have come back, when the dust had settled. I cant put all the blame on you for a five-year feud neither of us tried to fix. What’s happened has happened. I just… I can’t fix it now. I missed my chance,” she nodded, feeling tears she had thought used up brimming in her eyes again, her throat tightening. “He died hating me. I can’t fix that. But I can fix this. I can make it so I don’t lose anyone I love ever again to silence and stubbornness.”

There was a long silence, as Belle gulped and tried to regain control of herself, and Gold regarded her closely, waiting for her to speak again. She didn’t; she couldn’t. She didn’t know where to start.

“You mentioned your mother,” Gold prompted, gently, and she was grateful for his prompting, guiding her back to safer ground. Grateful too that he didn’t pick her up on her use of that fatal word in regards to him.

“He tried to keep her alive in the plants,” she said. “I told you about the tree. That tree was the closest thing he had to her, after me, and the tree never mouthed off or stayed out too late, or said it missed Australia. And when the plants didn’t assuage his guilt or his grief, he turned to drink.”

“And you?” Gold asked. “Did you try?”

“That’s what I’m getting to,” she said, with a sad smile. “I’ve been keeping her alive since the moment she died.”

“I don’t follow,” he said, frowning in confusion. She sighed, frustrated, and tried to order her thoughts.

“I never told you about her much, did I?”

“Your mother? No, I suppose you didn’t. I always thought it was too painful a topic to raise.”

“Mm,” Belle pursed her lips. “That’s always been our problem, hasn’t it? Difficult topics?”

“I suppose it has.”

“I always felt the same way about Bae’s mother,” she continued, a little more tentatively now. There were things she needed to say to him, stories that had to be told, but there were things she needed him to say too. An army of ghosts stood between them, her mother and his ex-wife; her father and the lost years they’d spent apart. It was time to bridge the gap.

Something had opened inside her, before she’d slept, as if the dam she’d built to keep all the pain inside her had finally burst and come flooding out, spilling over the floor. She’d always been so worried about what he might see, what he might think, if she opened her chest and showed him her heart, in all its weak and battered glory. Now, she wondered what in the world she had left to lose in doing just that. They were nowhere, not friends, not lovers, not even enemies. Whatever they would become would be defined in this conversation, so where was the harm in laying her cards on the table this time? She couldn’t demand honesty of him if she wasn’t willing to attempt the same, after all. And the thought of his collapsing at any moment, without warning – like Moe, like Granny – and dying without ever knowing the truth… it hurt too much to bear.

“I suppose I never told you much about her either, did I?” he asked, sighing and leaning back on the sofa.

“All I know is that she left,” Belle said. “And that’s not enough information anymore.”

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “But we were talking about your mother. About how you were keeping her alive?”

Belle nodded, and thought for a moment. She could tell him, she thought, but it would be better to show him. So she reached down to her feet, into her handbag, and pulled out her wallet. In the back, behind her credit cards and receipts, folded up, was an old, yellowing folded sheet of paper, which she now drew out with trembling care. Gold watched, confused, waiting for an explanation as she sat back up, and unfolded map for him to see.

“It was my mother’s,” she explained, softly. “Well, the atlas this came from was. My grandfather gave it to her for Christmas when she was ten years old, and she marked on it everywhere she wanted to go.” She pointed slowly to each individual pencil dot, scattered across the little map of the world: Paris, Beijing, San Francisco, Tokyo, Marrakech, Buenos Aires just a few among many, large and small, near and far. “And when I was ten, she passed it on to me.”

“Your travels,” Gold murmured, tracing one reverent fingertip over the paper, realisation finally dawning. “That was how you were keeping her alive.”

Belle nodded, slowly. “She was the adventurer first; she passed that on to me. She didn’t go when she was young because she fell pregnant with me, and married my dad to give me a home. Getting married, having a child, it forced her to stand still. But we were going to go together, her dreams were still going to come true. And then…”

She swallowed hard, tears springing to her eyes and reminding her why she’d never told him any of this. It still hurt too much, the memory of that last day in the hospital when her mother’s breathing had been shallow, and she’d made her promise. Even her father hadn’t overheard. It had been her moment, their moment: their final moment together. It had been private, and Belle had never wanted to share it with anyone else. What had it mattered that Colette was supposed to go with her, that she had inherited her dreams from her dead mother? Belle had had a hundred of her own reasons to back up her decisions, and telling someone had felt like sharing the only part of Colette she had left to herself.

But now, now she forced herself to speak, to share, to give this to him and let him know. “I felt the same thing happening, with you and me,” she confessed. “Like my parents. I felt myself wanting to stay here, becoming Bae’s mother, and I knew you would want to get married and… and I was going to fail her, and fail myself. And if I did that, if I let that go, then I was letting her go. ”

“So you let us go instead,” Gold finished, his voice heavy. Belle nodded.

“I had to,” she said. “I’d made a promise. I felt like if I did everything she had wanted; if I worked toward it and achieved it and loved it; then she would be there with me. She could live her dreams through me, even after she was gone. And you know what? It worked. I felt her beside me, I felt her smiling down on me, for a while at least.”

“What changed?”

“I got tired. I crossed off all the places she’d talked about, the ones we’d planned and cared about. Most of my friends are starting to settle down now, there’re fewer and fewer of us moving around these days. And then I got Ruby’s phone call, and everything changed all at once.”

“You should have told me,” he said. Belle took a deep breath, and fought the urge to snap at him, to close down, or to regret saying as much as she had. She had chosen this course, and he was right: she should have told him. Perhaps he would even have understood, if he’d known it was about more than just ambition. But even admitting that seemed like devaluing the ambition itself, and that didn’t sit right either.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” she said at last. “And I didn’t just go for that reason. This gave me a start,” she gestured to the map still sitting in her lap. “But I needed to do it for myself, too.”

“You still should have told me,” he said. “I might have understood if I’d known it was about your mother.”

“It wasn’t just about my mother,” she snapped, unable to help herself. “I wanted it as much as she did. All I’d ever wanted was to see the world, to climb mountains and hear the music and cross the sea. It just… it threw me when I realised that I wanted something else as well.”

“You made it sound as if you didn’t want us at all,” he reminded her, but there was no reproach in his eyes, no anger left. “You could have told me it was more than just wanderlust.”

“What would I have said?” Belle asked, helplessly. “That I watched my father trap my mother in a loveless marriage? That even at the age of ten I looked into my mother’s eyes and knew she’d rather be travelling the world than there with us? She loved me, she wanted me: I know that. But she resented my dad for making her sit still, and in a way she resented my part in that too. And my father… knowing what he’d done to the woman he loved, that she was so sad and stressed it made her sick, it turned him into the weak, foolish, brutish man you knew. I couldn’t stand for that to happen to you, or to Bae!” She took a deep breath, gauging his reaction, trying to phrase what it was she needed to say, and he needed to hear. “It doesn’t matter now whether or not I was right to be afraid of that. What matters, is that you know it wasn’t about you. It wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do. It wasn’t your fault that I left.”

“But it was my fault you didn’t come back,” he muttered, bitterly. To that, she had to nod. In Belle’s book, whatever reconciliation they were fumbling toward didn’t include letting anyone off the hook.

“And it was your fault I left this morning,” she said, although she knew the words were brutal. “Did you… did you really want the shop so badly, that you’d manipulate me into selling it to you anonymously? Does it really matter that much?”

“This had nothing to do with the blasted shop, and you know it,” he all but snapped, but she knew his anger was not directed at her but at himself. “I wanted some insurance if you planned to leave again. I knew selling up would be your first step, and I suppose… I suppose if I was going to lose you again, I wanted to at least profit from it somehow. I wanted to decide how it happened, this time. You caught me by surprise the first time. This time I wanted to be the one in control.”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” she muttered, but there was no malice in it. She had wanted honesty after all, and that wasn’t pretty but it was definitely the truth.

“I love you,” he said, again, with a small shrug and Belle remembered how he’d said it in the garden, while she’d stared, entranced, at the dead rose arbour and the snow. She’d wondered if she’d been imagining it, if it had been a trick of her memory or, perhaps, a desperate ploy on his part to coax her into his car and safety. But he had said it again, and this time there could be no ulterior motive and no imagining it. Belle couldn’t put name to how it made her feel to hear it, now.

She wanted to kiss him, to go back to the night before and simply be in love again, to set aside Granny, and Moe, the atlas in her hands, and the trail of lies documented in his study, and let love be enough. But it wasn’t: it hadn’t been the first time, after all.

Did that mean it didn’t matter? Did that make the words themselves meaningless?

No, of course not. She loved him too. With every beat of her heart, every breath in her lungs, she loved him too. If they loved each other and wanted to make it work, then surely that could be enough. She hadn’t wanted it to work, before: she’d wanted to be free, to follow through on her promises and spread her wings, more than she’d wanted him. That wasn’t the case anymore. He was all she wanted in the world.

“I love you too,” she breathed, and for a moment he smiled like he used to, warm and soft and unguarded, the smile she loved so very much. “But it doesn’t explain how you could do what you did.”

“I’m not good at love, Belle,” he sighed. “You know that better than anyone. Until that night in my shop, I thought I could handle it – even welcome it – if you left. The offer was a way of getting even. But that night everything changed, and when you left again so quickly I panicked. I lost control of myself, of the situation, of everything that night. I was trying to get it back.”

“Love isn’t about control,” Belle shook her head. “Quite the opposite.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I know. I know that now.”

Belle took a deep breath, and although she had thought she was all out of tears she still felt her eyes brim and her throat tighten as she looked at him, so open and so sad, and felt her heart clench with love for him. He was trying. He had made such a terrible mistake, screwed up everything so very badly, and yet he was trying now. He had come to find her, he had brought her in from the cold and fed her and warmed her and let her sleep, and now here he sat, fighting every impulse and fear he had in an attempt to give her the honesty she needed.

“But…” she said, “I think it might be about finding the person you love in the snow, and bringing them back inside. I think it might be about soup, and blankets, and staying close.”

“Soup?” he asked. His eyebrow rose in an attempt to hide the desperate hope in his eyes. She snorted through her nose.

“I’m trying to forgive you here,” she whispered. “Stop messing it up. And it was very good soup.”

“Thank you,” he said.

She nodded, and swallowed hard. There was something else she needed to discuss, and she knew it was now or never.

“You… you really pulled a gun on him?”

“I panicked,” Gold admitted. “I… I think I knew in that moment that he was something worse than I had expected. I thought if he knew I would come for him, financially and physically, it might keep him on the right side of things.”

“But you shut me out,” Belle reminded him. “How were you to know if it had gone smoothly, if you didn’t listen?”

“I didn’t want to know,” he spread his hands, helpless. “I thought you were with Will, and that was all I needed to know. Some part of me believed you’d come to rub it in. It was a mistake: I know that now.”

Belle was silent, chewing on her lower lip, until finally she sighed, and looked back up into his eyes. “You’re sorry?” she asked. “You really, truly regret it?”

“With all my heart,” he promised. “If I could go back and change any single decision, it would be when I set out to hurt you to save myself.”

“Okay,” Belle nodded, shakily. “Okay.” Something inside her slipped into place, and she realised she really did believe him, in his shaking hands and his earnest brown eyes. He had made a terrible mistake, one that had cost her dearly, but anger would only hurt them both even more. All that was left now was to forgive, and so Belle resolved herself to try. “Now,” she said, so as not to drown in the depth of his dark eyes and lose her way. “I believe you owe me a story.”

He sighed, the wind lost from his sails as he sagged back into the sofa. “There’s not much to tell, really. I met Mila around ten years ago on a business trip to Boston, and we married perhaps a year later. She fell pregnant soon after, and we had Bae. Six months later she met a charming biker down at the Rabbit Hole, and was gone within a fortnight.”

“She left you for a younger man,” Belle surmised, knowing there had to be more to the story. “Was that it?”

“What more does there need to be?” he asked. “After a few months’ struggling with agency babysitters, I advertised for a nanny and along you came. If you’re seeking a connection between the manner of Mila’s desertion and my reaction to your leaving, that’s all that needs telling.”

“Ruby said you used to fight,” she pressed, annoyed at his sudden defensiveness, how he had closed down entirely from the openness of moments before. “And we never did. There’s more to this than you’re telling me.”

She saw it, the moment defeat flashed across his face and he gave in. “Of course there’s more,” he muttered. “We were happy, when we married. She was clever and determined, fiery in a way I never had been. I suppose I admired that: she allowed me to blend into the background at gatherings. She was so charismatic, brash and lively, she loved to socialise.”

“I can’t imagine it,” Belle admitted. “I can’t picture you standing quietly next to someone who did all the talking.”

“I made her that way,” Gold shrugged. “By being passive and quiet I made her domineering and loud. And vice versa, I suppose. But it worked, for a time.”

“What happened?”

“She didn’t enjoy moving from Boston to Storybrooke, but I couldn’t spend every weekend visiting her down there, and this is the centre of my business. But even then, she adapted and endured. Bae was an accident, but she tried to be happy about it, to want to be a mother. Certainly, she didn’t seem unhappy about the prospect. But then… then this happened,” he gestured to his leg, “And things deteriorated from there.”

Belle’s eyes widened, remembering the story he’d told her long ago about how it had been broken in the first place. “The car crash,” she murmured, her fingertips pressed to her mouth. Gold nodded. “You said you walked a long way on your foot before it was treated… did she _make_ you do that?”

“I told you I was in an accident, which shattered my ankle,” he reminded her. “I didn’t tell you it was the night Bae was born, a week premature. I was out of town when Mila called me from the hospital, and I must have broken every speed limit getting home. I was doing sixty on a forty-limit highway when I hit a patch of ice, and skidded off the road. The impact shattered my ankle, and I had no cell service to call an ambulance, so I walked to the hospital.”

“How far?” Belle asked, her lips numb with shock, heart heavy with sympathy for how he must have suffered, for how hard it must have been.

“It was out by the toll bridge,” Gold replied. “So about three or four miles. On a summer’s day, I might have just made it, but it was the middle of the night in November. By the time I reached the ER, I had damaged it beyond repair.”

“Did she _blame_ you for that?” Belle demanded, temper flaring at the thought that an injury – and one worsened for such a noble cause! – could have angered the other woman so greatly as to break their marriage.

“I was in the hospital for weeks, between the surgeries and the physiotherapy, just to give me the ability to walk at all. Through that time, Mila was trapped at home alone with a newborn, with no family or friends around to help. My reputation then was no better than it is now – worse, perhaps. As she had made no friends here in the interim, she had no support at all. The isolation exacerbated her post-partum depression, and it made her hate me. That hatred never went away. She blamed me for her time alone, even after I was discharged and could help with Bae. And I think she resented Bae, too, for crying in the night and puking on her clothes, and doing everything babies do. She couldn’t help it. It was an impossible situation she was in, that I put her in.”

“So you fought,” Belle said, understanding now. She felt an unwelcome and unexpected stab of pity for that unknown woman now, a woman she would likely never meet, who she had hated on principle since the moment she’d first learned of her. It was harder to maintain that dislike, now she knew the facts. No wonder Gold never spoke of it.

“About everything,” Gold agreed. “She wanted to move to San Francisco and go to art school, she wanted me to work part-time and be home with the baby, she wanted a live-in nanny… most of all, she wanted me to consent to an incredibly risky operation to repair my ankle, which had it failed could have killed my foot entirely. I gave her none of that. We stayed here, I kept working, and I learned to live with a cane.”

“What happened when she left?” Belle asked. Gold sighed, and ran a hand over his face, his eyes on the ceiling and not on her.

“She met another man,” Gold said. “It’s really that simple. We were fighting again – Bae had colic and wasn’t sleeping, and we were going out of our minds with worry and exhaustion. She stormed out, left me with the baby, and went to the Rabbit Hole. That’s when she met Killian Jones, a reprobate with a motorbike and a criminal record.”

“ _Killian Jones_?” Belle shook her head, “That’s a little anticlimactic. I was expecting something a little more threatening, like ‘Viper’ or ‘Slicer’.”

Gold cracked the smallest of smiles at that, “As a matter of fact, his nickname amongst his associates was ‘Hook’.”

“How on earth did he come by that?” Belle wondered. Gold shrugged.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he replied. “I believe he is in possession of both hands. At any rate, after a few weeks of semi-secret courtship I found her in the hallway one morning, bags packed, and she told me he was headed to California and that he’d invited her along. I didn’t stop her: it would have been pointless to try. Since then we’ve only been in the same place a handful of times when she’s come to see Bae. She didn’t even fight me on the custody.”

“I’m so sorry, Cam,” Belle breathed. “I… well, that explains why you hated Will so much.”

“I’m sure he’s a perfectly decent young man,” Gold waved a hand, “I think I even knew that then. But you were so close to him, and he was clearly mad for you, so I took one look and I saw history repeat itself. I tried to stop you leaving like I hadn’t stopped Mila, and when you left anyway I punished you for it. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair, but it’s what I did.”

“But we never fought,” Belle murmured. “If you were in so much pain, and I was so ready to run, how were we so happy?”

“We loved each other, didn’t we?” he asked, and his eyes begged her to agree. She nodded. “You made me so happy, just by being yourself, and I didn’t want to fight anymore,” he sighed. “I wanted you to be my happy ending, bestowed after a lifetime of hardship. In order to maintain that belief, I avoided unpleasantness, anything that could upset the balance. Considering your relationship with your father, perhaps in search of sanctuary you did the same?”

“We were both seeking a safe harbour,” Belle nodded, the words ringing inside her, somewhere deep and important. “I suppose it makes sense we’d avoid making waves. But you still should have told me,” Belle repeated his words from earlier. “Just as I should. An explanation isn’t an excuse.” Gold conceded the point.

“Perhaps, but what good would it have done?” he asked, gesturing to the crumpled map. “You would have left regardless. You had your reasons, and nothing I could have said would have kept you here. Nothing I could have offered would have been enough.”

“You could have trusted me to return,” Belle said, softly. “You could have believed in our love, enough to take the chance, to let me go with your blessing rather than holding me down. But you forced me to choose, and I couldn’t bear the thought of knowing one day that I’d chosen wrong.”

“You’re so certain that that would have happened?” Gold asked. “That history would have repeated itself? With all due respect for the dead, I like to think I share very few traits with Moe French. If we’d waited a few years, we could have travelled together, like you suggested. Perhaps there was a compromise to be found, if only we’d have talked it through.”

“Would you have camped with me on the Great Wall?” Belle asked, lightly, for she knew the answer. It was a hypothetical. “With a toddler in tow, and your foot to worry about? How about sleeping on trains across Europe, or working three months on a cruise ship in the Caribbean? You were right to say no to me when you did, Cam, you did us both a favour. There were things I did in those years away that I had to do by myself. I wasn’t done being young yet.”

“I knew that,” Gold nodded, his voice heavy and dull, resigned. “I knew that from the moment I saw you. You were always too young and bright for this place, and I never understood why you chose to remain as long as you did. There was no reason for you to ever return, no reason to believe you wouldn’t find someone your own age who was accustomed to such experiences, and with it a better life. I thought if I could tie you down, set a date and make you return, then I could prevent you finding out that things were better out there.”

“I thought the same,” she admitted. “After we broke up, I thought I’d go out there and discover that what we’d had was commonplace, nothing special. I expected to meet someone else. But I never did. Five years, and I never loved anyone the way I loved you. The way I still love you.”

“Love isn’t enough,” Gold said. “You know it isn’t. It wasn’t enough to keep you here, and it wasn’t enough to keep me good.”

“Then what is?” she challenged. “What is enough?”

“Love has to be bolstered,” Gold said. “It’s a starting point. It requires commitment and understanding and communication, all things at which we both have failed numerous times. Without those things love is a sickness more than it is a cure. Take the past few months as evidence enough of that.”

“You sound as if this is a lost cause,” Belle accused.

“From an outside perspective, perhaps it is,” he agreed. He sagged, sighing, the fight and the pessimism finally draining out of him. Belle felt that the bite of his fear had been lost, proven false in the face of evidence and experience. If there truly was nothing left, no point in trying, then how come they kept finding their way back to one another? “But then, there’s the soup.”

Belle managed a small smile at that, and inclined her head. “There is the soup, yes. The soup must be considered.”

“So what do we do now?” Gold asked. Belle looked at him, and tried to think of how the hell she was supposed to answer that question.

Purposefully, she leaned down and settled beside him, her body curled into his. His arm came around her almost on instinct, and she felt warmer and better for the contact. She didn’t know what to say. She hoped this could be answer enough for now: contact, affection, companionship. They both needed time to think, to process the new perspective and information, and perhaps she would feel differently when the dust settled and life calmed down again. But she had felt this way last night, even before the emotional bomb had dropped. She couldn’t imagine her feelings for him changing now, after all this time.

Five years ago, this sort of intense emotional struggle would have sent her running for the hills, desperate to disentangle herself and fly free. Now, no matter how much it hurt, she knew that this was where she needed to be. Love alone might not be enough, but surely a mutual will to forgive and to work and to understand could be? She was willing if he was, at least.

“I love you,” she said needing to say the words aloud for herself as much as for him. She felt him tense around her, holding her closer, his head resting against hers.

“I love you too,” he sighed, and she closed her eyes tight shut, breathing him in, and found some fragile peace in the slow beating of his heart against her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Granny wakes up, and Gold makes a selfless decision


	27. Open Your Chest

It was late, at least midnight, when Gold awoke in his bed with a start. He checked the clock beside his bed with squinting eyes: one-thirty in the morning.

He glanced about, searching for what had awoken him. Then he heard a soft noise, the same noise he had heard just before waking: a cough, from the doorway.

Gold sat up a little, blinking at the soft light pouring in from the landing. Belle stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the hallway lamplight, leaning uncertainly on the frame. He had tucked her up on the sofa hours ago, exhausted from crying and talking and what was likely the longest day of her life.

“Belle?” he asked, his voice pitched low although there was no one asleep in the house to wake. “Are you alright?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, as if she were ashamed of herself. She scuffed her foot on the floor like a child, her head bowed. His eyes were not accustomed to the light; he could not see her face.

“The spare room is down the hall, if you’d find a bed more comfortable,” he suggested. “It’s all made up if you want to use it.”

“I… it’s not the bed,” she admitted. “I just don’t want to be alone tonight. Could I… could I sleep here?”

Gold considered it. After the conversation they’d had on the sofa, the confessions and the stories laid bare, the uncertainty and doubt, they likely needed some time apart before moving forward. He didn’t want to ruin things again, to hurt her when she was so very vulnerable and lose her again. And after learning of her mother’s death, the promise she’d made, her father’s abuse and the true reasons she’d had for leaving all those years ago, he could find no more anger or distrust for her. He wanted her safe, and happy, and preferably with him. Sharing a bed tonight seemed premature in the pursuit of that goal, a repeat of the mistakes they’d made since their reunion that had hindered their progress.

And yet, she looked so sad and so lonely, standing there. The world had just caved in around her, and Gold was a weak man, he always had been: he couldn’t send her away.

“Of course,” he sighed, turning down the covers beside him on what he still considered – had always considered – her side of the bed.

She reached behind her and clicked off the hall light, before stepping forward and closing the door behind her with a soft _snick_. Her shadow padded its way across the floor, and the mattress depressed beside him as she slid beneath the covers. A moment later, he felt her lie down and rest her head on her pillow, curling to her side away from him and getting comfortable.

“Thank you,” she said. He barely heard it, even in the silence of the night. He didn’t know how to reply: ‘you’re welcome’ seemed as if he’d done her some great favour, when truth be told there was no where else in the world he’d rather be than in his bed beside her, with no more secrets or grudges held between them to block the way. But to say that… to say that would be to push things further than they ought to go, for tonight. The last thing Gold wanted was to reach too far, and fall over another cliff.

Instead, he lay down beside her, and curled onto his side to face her. It was Belle who arched backward, who in a few small shuffling movements had their bodies pressed close, her back to his front. Gold found no harm then in finishing what she had started, and settling his head behind hers, his arm slung over her torso to hold her close.

It felt like a lifetime since he had held her thus, although the night before had been spent the exact same way. What a difference a day made, he thought; how much could change in hours, minutes, _seconds_.

He prayed the coming dawn would be clearer, easier, a return to normality: for Belle’s sake, if not for his own. Yet even then, he could not deny the selfish part of him that felt almost grateful for the trials of the past day, if only because they had cast his own betrayal into such harsh perspective. There was no knowing what Belle would decide, when the dust settled and her mind cleared. She would have every right to declare this whole reprieve a mistake, to find herself incapable of trusting him ever again and ending things for good. Certainly he would not be able to fault her if she declared their reconciliation a product of her shock and her grief, rather than any real commitment.

He held her tighter, and closed his eyes, breathing in the soft scent of her hair and revelling in the warmth of her, how wonderful it was just to hold her like this, even if it could be for the last time. Gold felt himself slip into sleep even as he clawed for consciousness, and hoped to God he would awaken to find himself in the same position, and Belle still safe in his arms.

But, alas, when he opened his eyes to find daylight streaming in, he found himself alone. The sheets were still warm from her body when he reached for her and found them empty, and he sighed, his eyes squeezing shut as he slumped back into the pillows.

She was gone, then. She had likely awoken disgusted with herself for falling back to him after all he had done, and taken the smart decision to leave before she had to face him. He couldn’t even feel any anger: it was what he had expected, what he likely deserved, after all. Instead, all he felt was a weary resignation, as he forced himself to sit with his hands against the bed, and tried to consider where to go next.

Something crunched against his hand as he levered himself up, and he turned to regard the bed with a frown. Beneath his hand lay a crisp piece of note paper – his own paper, monogrammed and stolen from his study – with Belle’s looping script scrawled upon it.

_Sorry for leaving – Mulan texted and said Granny’s awake! I’m off to the hospital, so don’t worry, I’m fine: I called a cab. I’ll call you later when I know more._

_Thank you for everything yesterday. I meant every word I said._

_Love,_

_B_

Gold blinked at the words, reading and rereading them, his mind adjusting to the information. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t regret staying the night, or their conversation, or even ending up – however innocently – in his bed. He was thankful for the news about Granny, for all he wished she’d woken him to tell him in person.

His mind kept returning to that second to last word: thrown out so casually and yet so full of meaning. Love. She’d said it the day before, of course, but in the mad rush of everything that had happened he had chalked it in large part up to her grief. It was natural, when one had lost something vital, to grasp at any potential replacement for the gap. He hadn’t taken her at her word: had she taken it back today, he wouldn’t have held it against her.

And yet there it was, in black and white in her own hand, clear as day. She had signed off letters that way all the time when they were together, and the effect then had been no less profound for all its frequency.

A glance at the clock, away from the note in his hands, told him it was seven a.m. and more than late enough to get up. If he dressed and ate breakfast quickly, he even stood a chance of catching Bae on the way to school. He needed to see his son. After all the emotion and pain and confusion of the day before, Gold had never needed Bae more.

He was out of the house in less than an hour, dressed and shaved and breakfasted, in far better condition than he had been the day previous. His hand had healed well in the night, dressed and bandaged, and this morning all he had was some stiffness and bruising to show for his temper tantrum the previous morning. The air was cold and sharp as he exited his home and locked up, and he wrapped his coat around himself tight, gripping his cane for dear life.

Thankfully, Regina had been diligent the day before and ensured that the pavements were properly gritted against ice. Gold had learned his lesson from one car accident and two near misses with his cane on black ice: if he couldn’t see grit, he didn’t walk. However, it seemed his consistent complaints to the city council had at last done some good, as the pavement was clear and safe throughout his neighbourhood.

He cut a path through the houses, skirting his usual route to follow the path from the Nolans’ house to the bus stop. He caught sight of his boy a second after Bae saw him, and smiled instinctively when he heard an ecstatic cry, “ _PAPA_!”

“Hey, Bae,” he said, crossing the road quickly and wading through the snow on the grass to meet Bae, Emma, and Mary Margaret. Bae hugged him tight, and Gold held on a moment longer than usual, feeling some part of him unfurl and begin to heal at the comforting weight of his son wrapped around his legs. “You have a good time last night?”

“Mm-hmm,” Bae nodded, finally disentangling himself and stepping back to stand with Emma. “We had hot chocolate and watched How To Train Your Dragon and we built a snowman!”

“How big?” Gold asked, curiously. Emma jumped up before Bae could speak.

“Up to my dad’s shoulder!” she announced. “Taller than you!”

Gold shot her a mock glare. She stuck out her tongue.

“We’ll build one twice that big before the winter’s out,” he promised Bae, turning his eyes firmly from the gurning little Miss Swan. “I’ll get Mr Dove to lend us a hand.”

Bae’s eyes widened at that, “That’ll be _huge_ ,” he marvelled. Gold grinned, and looked up to meet Mary Margaret’s eyes.

“Would you mind if I accompanied you, Mrs Nolan?” he asked, courteously. “I would like to spend a few minutes with my son.”

“Of course,” Mary Margaret smiled, and Gold was almost warmed to see that her customary wariness had worn away somewhat. She looked curious, though, and he could tell she was thirsty for information. He pointedly returned his attention to Bae. Mary Margaret, sensing his dismissal, took Emma’s hand, and started walking again, “Come on, Emma.”

 “You okay, papa?” Bae asked, quietly. Gold nodded. He took Bae’s gloved hand in his, bright blue wool clasped in thick black leather, and started to follow Mary Margaret, keeping his steps slow to keep well behind them.

“Bae…” he started, then stopped trying to map out a plan for this conversation in his head. For all his own troubles, for all his own misery, this would be Bae’s first encounter with serious illness, perhaps even death. He didn’t want such dark thoughts disturbing his small son’s sunny little world. He also didn’t want Bae to resent him someday for sheltering him, for ill-preparing him for a less than sunny adult reality. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” Bae asked, worriedly. “Is… is something wrong, papa?”

The fear in Bae’s voice caught at him. Nothing ever had been seriously wrong before, not like this. After all, Bae had no grandparents to speak of, no elderly relatives or family friends. Bae’s world consisted of his father, the Nolans, the denizens of Granny’s diner, and now Belle. No one in his little circle had ever left it, ever left him, at least not with his knowledge, not since he’d been old enough to feel it. Gold had fought tooth and nail to keep it that way. Mila was the only exception, and Gold mitigated her damage as much as he could on a daily basis. Would it be easier for Bae to keep the secret, to protect him until something happened to force his hand? Was that the safer path?

The urge to lie, to stop his tongue for the sake of his son’s innocence, was so powerful it almost overwhelmed him. But Gold had been keeping far too many secrets of late. If there was one lesson to be learned from the debacle with Belle’s inheritance, it was that. He’d been offered an odd sort of second chance with Belle, to fix that mistake, to earn back her trust. He had to try and act on the promises he’d made to himself in the dead of night. To love with courage and honesty, and trust those he loved with the truth.

“You remember Mrs Lucas, who runs the diner?” Gold started, gently. Bae nodded.

“Everyone knows Granny.”

“Well, she’s gotten very sick,” Gold said. “She’s in the hospital, in fact.”

“Is she okay?” Bae asked, concern colouring his voice. Gold swallowed, hard, and nodded.

“We hope so,” he said. “I don’t know right now. She was very sick yesterday, though. Belle is there with her – you how know the two of them are very close. Granny is very important to Belle.”

Bae nodded. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Belle already lost her father earlier this year,” Gold continued. “So Granny being sick is making her very sad. Especially because Granny is sick in the same way.”

“Is Granny going to die?” Bae cried, and Emma turned around at the sound of his distress. Mary Margaret shot Gold a concerned glance, and Gold tried to give a reassuring smile. She looked worried, and Gold sighed inwardly. She would have to have this talk with Emma as well, at some point. Maybe she’d sell her some sweet little lie, like Granny moved to a farm out of town and would never visit. Emma was too smart to believe it, but Mary Margaret might still make the attempt.

“We hope not,” Gold said. “The doctors are doing everything they can to make that not happen. But I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“What is it, papa?” Bae asked, his eyes wide and trusting, He was desperate for a way to make things better. He was only just eight, and yet Bae was already a far better man than Gold had ever been. His first instinct was to help those he cared about. “What can I do?”

“Be extra nice to Belle, okay?” Gold asked. “She might need us to look after her sometimes, if Granny doesn’t get better soon. It’s very hard when someone you love is sick. Can you do that for me Bae?”

“Of course!” Bae cried. “She can have my room, if she wants,” he offered, and Gold’s heart caught at his impulsive generosity. “And my PlayStation. My PlayStation always makes me feel better.”

Gold smiled, “That’s very generous, be sure and run it by her when you see her. I’m sure that’ll cheer her up.”

Bae nodded, his eyes bright with purpose.

They’d reached the bus stop by now, and Emma ran back to grab Bae, “Come on!” she cried, “If we don’t run we won’t sit together!”

“Bye, papa!” Bae cried, as he was pulled away by his insistent best friend.

“Bye Bae,” he waved him off, chuckling at Emma’s antics, as the pair of them got in the line for the bus under Mary Margaret’s watchful eye. She met his gaze over the children’s heads, and let a teaching assistant take over chaperoning for a moment, coming over to meet him.

“What was that all about?” she asked. Gold’s shoulders slumped.

“I was telling him about the situation with Mrs Lucas, from the diner. He likes her a lot, and from what I’ve heard she may be in the woods somewhat for the moment.” He sighed, “I… want him to be prepared if there’s a funeral in his future.”

“It’s that bad?” Mary Margaret gasped, her pretty face falling. Gold nodded, grimly, and remembered only then how close the schoolteacher was to Granny as well. He hoped he hadn’t hurt Mary Margaret with his blunt account, and the fact that he cared unnerved him. “I haven’t been to the hospital since… God, I should be finding the time. I had no idea.” She covered her mouth with a shaking hand, and Gold felt a stab of sympathy for her.

“Last I heard she had awoken, which is a good start,” he said, a little gentler, the tone rusty in his mouth. “But she required a bypass operation of some sort, and she’s an old woman. If I were you, I’d prepare Emma, if you think she’ll be affected. Perhaps visit if you’ve the time.”

Mary Margaret pursed her lips, “Thanks for the warning,” she said. “God, poor Granny. I was teaching all day yesterday, I only heard a little from David when I got home. But how do you know?”

“I’m well connected,” he said. She looked thoughtful, and Gold knew he’d been caught out.

“It’s Belle,” she sighed, her voice soft with sympathy. “She’s close to Granny, isn’t she? And after her dad died last summer… God, I can’t imagine what she must be going through right now.”

“Yesterday was… harder on her, than it was on me,” Gold replied, forcing the admission out, the urge to lie or to evade almost irresistible.

“She’s strong, you know,” Mary Margaret said, and he couldn’t imagine why she was offering him comfort, but he snatched at it with greedy hands. “And sometimes dark times like this can have silver linings.”

“Oh?” Gold muttered, unable to hold back his scorn for such cliché, “Pray tell?”

Mary Margaret shrugged, “When times are hard, you find out who really loves you, and who you really need. When my father died… well, let’s just say I learned pretty darn quickly who my friends were. The people who love you are the ones still standing at your side when you look around.”

“Your point being?” he asked, but the harshness was lost from his voice. He was fast coming to suspect there might be more to the bland Mary Margaret Nolan than he’d previously thought, much as he hated to be wrong.

“If you were looking for a time to let her know how you feel, now would be it,” she said, with a smile that said she thought him clueless. He inclined his head.

“And on that unsolicited advice, your bus is leaving.”

She looked ready to retort, but then she heard the motor rev behind her and had to turn, wide-eyed, and sprint for the bus doors. Gold waved her off with a small but almost genuine smile, and started his walk toward the shop. He diverted a little, making his way down Main Street earlier than usual to stop past the diner. His whole being recoiled at the thought of another haranguing by the irate Ashley Boyd, but he needed information. His cut clenched and twisted with every step, and he expected his phone to ring at any second, for Belle to sob on the other end that Granny was gone, that she was alone and reduced to rubble, that the world itself had ended.

That would be how it would feel for her, were that to happen. Of that, Gold had no doubt. Belle had only just glued herself together; she was only now learning how to grieve the dead without dying herself. Granny’s unwavering support and affection, her boundless maternal love, had been instrumental in that. From the sounds of it, she had supported Belle through the deaths of both parents. Gold had seen Belle come back to life in stages. She had even begun to rely a little upon him, when he had finally found the courage to let her. He owed the old woman everything for that.

And then, by some terrible twist of fate, she had lost that tentative trust in him on the same morning she had lost Granny’s support. If Granny died now, even with his clumsy efforts to make amends, he didn’t know how much would be left of Belle to reassemble.

The diner was still boarded up when he reached it, a sign on the door telling him nothing he hadn’t known last night. Ashley was nowhere to be seen, the whole place shuttered and dark.

With a sigh, Gold tried to turn anxiety into irritability: it was simply poor planning to have the place unattended; the girl was lazy and unhelpful. It didn’t help. He had a terrible image in his head, that Belle had become insensible upon Granny’s death and thus not called him, and that one of her friends had called Ashley to come and say her goodbyes. That she could have died, and he would be cut out of the loop.

He dialled Belle’s number quickly, and pressed the phone to his ear. The tuneless ringing mocked him. It rang and rang, and the opaque tone did nothing to tell him if Belle could hear it, or what would reach him were she to pick up.

“Come on Belle,” he muttered, his heart pounding, anxiety building with every repetition of that useless noise. “Pick up, come on.”

It was an eternity before, at last, the line clicked and her voice came flooding through, “Hello?”

“Hey,” he breathed, his voice far weaker and less composed than he had hoped. “How… how are things?”

“Cam,” he heard the smile in her voice, the recognition. “I’m sorry about this morning, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay,” he assured her quickly, so happy to hear her sounding like herself that he couldn’t imagine needing an apology. “You need to be with her, I understand. How is she?”

“She’s awake,” Belle said, with a happy little sob. She was crying with joy, “She’s awake and making arrangements for the diner, scolding Ruby for not getting enough sleep. Arguing with the doctors about the merits of red meat. She’s tired and in pain but… Cam, she’s here. She’s with us. Dr Whale says the prognosis is good. With any luck in a few months, with proper care and some lifestyle changes, she should make a full recovery.”

“Good,” Gold nodded, absorbing this sudden rush of good news. The relief was incongruous, at odds with his experience, with reality. Wonders like that didn’t happen, not to him, not in this life. “I’m glad, that’s good.”

“It is,” Belle wept. “It’s so good. It’s a miracle.”

“Are you alright?” he asked, then.

“I’m glad she’s awake,” Belle said. “It’s just been… it’s been a hard few days. I’m reeling.”

“It’s no wonder,” he sympathised, leaning against the fence of the diner to take some weight off his cane. His foot started to ache in the cold, and he knew he needed to walk to the shop and get into the warm, but he couldn’t trust his balance juggling both cane and phone on the frozen ground. His foot could wait. “It’s been an emotional rollercoaster, as they say.”

“It’s not over yet,” Belle warned. “My next call is to the insurance company, and Granny could develop an infection or a blood clot or… or…”

“The insurers are causing a problem?” he pressed, trying to distract her from the panic he could hear ensuing in her voice.

Belle took a deep, shuddering breath, and he heard her trying to orient herself. “Yes,” she said. “They’re saying something about a limit on how much they’ll pay or something. Ruby spoke to them yesterday but she wasn’t… she wasn’t really in a place to take in complicated information.”

“Let me handle it,” Gold offered, remembering his instructions to Bae. An hour on hold to Granny’s insurer was the least he could do to ease Belle’s suffering, especially when he was partially to blame. “I have a law degree, remember? I can sort this out for you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Belle sighed. “It’s not your problem.”

“You’re in no fit state,” he reminded her, firmly. “Neither is Ruby. Mrs Lucas should focus on getting better, and I’ve dealt with these sorts of things before. I went through it with my ankle, I know what needs to be done.”

The line was silent for a long moment, and he braced himself for her admonition, her admission that after their battle over Game of Thorns she couldn’t trust him with this. He could take it, he thought: he deserved it. At least he could say he’d tried. His ankle ached in the snow; he hoped she’d say something soon.

“Okay,” Belle agreed, to his surprise. “Okay, I… yeah. Maybe you can get some sense out of them. Thank you, Cam.”

“Any time,” he said. “Go be with Granny and Ruby. Do you want to come over again tonight? I could make us dinner, Bae would be delighted to see you.”

There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the phone, and his heart sank. He steeled himself. He should have expected that’d be a bridge too far. That was how Belle worked these days: one step forward, two steps back.

“Cam, I… I meant what I said, please don’t doubt that. I love you. But… I can’t be your girlfriend right now. I can’t commit to a relationship that I thought was going to end two days ago. We’re… we’re complicated, you know? When you and I are in the same space things get messy. And I hope we sort that out one day but right now…”

“Right now things are messy enough without adding you and I into the mix,” Gold finished for her, heavily. “I understand.”

“I want to get us right, Cam,” Belle begged. “I want to make it work, for real this time. I want us to start from a good place and be happy. And I just… this is such a bad place for me, you know? I don’t know how I feel from one minute to the next. You can’t work anything else out around that.”

“I know,” he agreed, “I know, and it’s okay.”

“It is?”

“I’ve been waiting five years for you to come back,” Gold shrugged, with a sad smile. “Even if I swore up and down I never wanted to see you again, and didn’t exactly show my relief when you returned.” She gave a wet laugh on the other end of the phone. “I can wait a little longer. Because I meant what I said, too: I love you, Belle.”

“Is that enough for now?” she asked. “Even with everything else?”

“It has to be,” he said, with a surety he was desperate to feel. “We’ll work it out. For now, you should get back to your family.”

“I… okay,” she sighed, gusty and heavy. “I will. I… hug Bae for me, okay? Tell him I’ll see him soon.”

“I will, and I’ll call the insurers,” he said gently, not wanting to push her any further lest she say something she regretted, “Go back to Granny.”

“I’ll speak to you later,” she promised. “I… I love you.”

“And I love you too,” he murmured, marvelling at the ability to say it, to mean it, and to have it carry no baggage anymore. He loved her. That could be enough, for now at least.

His foot was throbbing, seized up from the cold, when he made it to the shop. He sat in the back and covered it in a blanket from the cot, pointing the space heater on it on full throttle.

The insurance company were, predictably, intractable. He had known that would be the case when he’d offered to make the call. Belle had had Ruby email him Granny’s policy information from her phone, the miracle of technology. Having the name and feigning kinship had given him access, but no fortune.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Gold,” the woman said, her voice conveying boredom more than sympathy. “But the policy on your aunt is very clear. We simply cannot cover her for longer than another week in the ICU.”

“You’re asking her to leave the hospital against medical advice?” he asked, in his coolest, most intimidating tone.

The woman stammered, “The policy is very clear. I’m very sorry, but there is an upper limit and we can’t pay out past that.”

“I see,” Gold said. “Well, a contract is a contract, is it not?”

“I… yes, sir.”

“Thank you for your time,” he snapped. “I’ll pass on your sympathies, of course.”

“Have a good day, sir,” the woman replied, sounding harried and thankful to be rid of him.

Gold could hardly complain as he hung up: his business was predicated upon sticking as closely to the letter of a contract as possible, and he wasn’t by nature generous and kind-hearted to his customers. It still sickened him to think of Belle caring for Granny in that little room behind the diner, without medical support. They would have to subsist on whatever could be pulled in from the diner and the inn, without the help of the proprietor, and even then they had no hope of keeping up their costs while still providing adequate care. As reality set in, Belle would fade and wither, the elation of this morning replaced by exhaustion and dread as Granny deteriorated from stress, fatigue, and a lack of proper medication..

Granny needed to be in the hospital, where she had the best chance of recovery. It was the only way to ensure Belle’s wellbeing.

He’d known he’d have to make his next call before he’d even spoken to the insurers. If Anne Lucas was to get the care she needed going forward, she would need better financing than her lacklustre insurers.

“Storybrooke Hospital billing department, how can I help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Belle, Ruby and Mulan make plans


	28. True Love

“How is she?” Belle asked, upon returning to Granny’s room. Gold had called right as she’d stepped out for some air, thankfully, as the cell signal within the hospital was terrible. Ruby and Mulan were just coming out of the room as Belle came up the corridor, closing the door behind them. Ruby sighed, and rubbed her face with her hands.

“She’s asleep again,” she said, and Belle swallowed hard. “Whale says she needs her rest, the fact she’s come round from the anaesthesia is what matters. She’s…” she trailed off, exhausted and drained, and took a deep breath. Mulan squeezed her hand, and continued for her.

“She’s breathing on her own,” she said, as Ruby sagged against her side. “Which was what they were really worried about. They’re going to keep her in the ICU for a few more days for observation, but Whale says if she keeps improving she should be able to move into a regular room after that.”

“Is she likely to wake up again soon?” Belle asked. There was so much she still had to say to Granny, and the thought she’d missed precious minutes on the phone cut her deep. Mulan shrugged.

“No way to tell, apparently,” she said. “Whale said the more she rests the better she’ll do. I think maybe we should let her sleep for the time being.”

“Okay,” Belle nodded. “I… yes, okay.”

“I’m taking you two home,” Mulan said, firmly, taking Belle by the hand with her free one. “You’re both wiped out.”

“I’m fine,” Belle lied. She’d slept like the dead the night before once she’d been in Gold’s arms, but she hadn’t awoken feeling refreshed. In her dreams she’d run through endless hospital corridors, up stairs and around corners, searching for someone she couldn’t find, certain they’d be dead before she got there.

“We’re gonna talk about you when we get home,” Mulan said, firmly. “But we have to get there first, and get Ruby to bed.”

“No,” Ruby murmured against Mulan’s shoulder as they started back toward the exit. “I wanna yell at Belle too. Much more fun than thinking about Granny’s busted heart.” Her head rose, and her eyes fixed accusingly on Belle’s. “You scared me to fucking death you bitch, running off like that. And a text from your bastard ex-boyfriend three full hours after you fuck off telling me you’re not dead isn’t really reassuring you know? Did you forget how to work a phone?”

“I… I’m sorry,” Belle hung her head, her breath leaving her in a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I just lost my mind. I could barely speak by the time he found me.”

“Well that’s fucking terrifying,” Ruby muttered. “Thanks.”

“I have to say, he’s going up a bit in my estimations,” Mulan admitted as they left the hospital, and started back across the parking lot to the car, still where they’d left it the previous day. “You should have seen him when he got to the hospital looking for you, Belle. He was tearing his hair out.”

“So were we by the way,” Ruby added, as she slumped into the front passenger seat. Mulan climbed in the driver’s side, and Belle sat in the back, resting her head in her hands. Ruby rolled her head around to glare back at Belle. “Just saying, you scared the shit out of me. I thought you’d thrown yourself off a bridge or something!”

“I was just in papa’s garden,” Belle said, softly. “I went to his grave but… yeah, I ended up in the garden. I don’t even know why Cam thought to look there, but he made sure I didn’t freeze to death.”

“Fucking good,” Ruby muttered, her head resting back. “Someone should. Sorry babe but I’m not in a fit state to be on Belle-watch just now.”

“She’s going to live, Rubes,” Belle said, still unable to believe their good luck. “You heard Whale before. They expect a full recovery. Can you believe it?”

“No,” Ruby said, thickly, but Belle could hear the smile in her voice. “I can’t. I… fuck, I really thought she was going to die on me, you know? Just… there one day and gone the next. I thought she was going to die.” She was crying openly now, and Belle reached forward to hold her hand around the side of the seat.

“But she isn’t,” Belle insisted. “She’s going to live. And I spoke to Cam earlier, he said he’ll handle the insurance situation.”

“You left Granny’s insurance in the hands of your shitty ex?” Ruby demanded. “Yesterday he was a lying untrustworthy scumbag!”

“He volunteered to call them, Rubes,” Belle explained. “And… and I do trust him. I trust him with this, and I’ll keep an eye on it just in case. Please trust me, if not him?”

“I do,” Ruby sighed, the fight draining from her as her eyes drifted closed. She squeezed Belle’s hand, “I trust you. And I guess if anything seems off we can call them ourselves, right?”

“Right.”

They got Ruby to bed, and even as she protested that she wanted all the details of what had happened to Belle the day before, and all the things they needed to do now, she was asleep before Mulan had time to take her shoes off. Belle was still wired, however, as was Mulan. It felt like she’d been awake for a week straight, despite the sleep she’d had. It felt like a lifetime since she’d been telling Bae stories. It had only been two days.

They settled on the sofa in the back of the inn, each cradling a cup of coffee. The silence was deafening after the noise and rush of the past few days.

“Talk to me?” Belle begged. “I’m going to spiral otherwise.”

“You wanna talk about whatever happened last night?” Mulan asked, eyebrow raised. “You’ve gone from outraged loathing to trusting him with Granny’s healthcare in twenty-four hours.”

“We talked,” Belle shrugged, still trying to process herself the revelations of the previous day. “Like, really talked. About stuff we should have talked about years ago.”

“And?”

“I love him,” she said, simply. “And he loves me. So that’s… something.”

“Yeah,” Mulan breathed, taking a sip of her coffee. “That’s something alright. And that’s still going to be the case when all this shit calms down and you can think straight?”

“It was the case before Granny collapsed,” Belle admitted. “I don’t think I ever stopped, in fact.”

“You don’t spend five years drunkenly crying over someone you’ve moved on from, I guess,” Mulan shrugged. “God, I was so glad to hear from him yesterday,” she added. “I figured if you were with him then at least you were physically safe.”

“He wrapped me in a blanket and fed me soup,” Belle sighed, a small smile brought to her face at the memory of his patient, loving care. “And he says he’ll wait until I’m ready to decide what comes next.”

“And that’s enough?” Mulan asked. “Even after that whole thing with your dad and selling the shop? You’re just going to go back to him now he’s decided he loves you again?”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Belle denied, shaking her head. “It’s not as simple as being together or being apart.”

“What do you mean?” Mulan frowned. Belle sighed, and tried to work what she was feeling into something resembling order.

“I don’t know,” she said, at last. “I just know that we have a second chance now. We have an opportunity to try again, and that’s… that’s worth something. I tried for five years to find someone I loved even half as much as I love him, and I couldn’t come close. I don’t know if we’ll be happy together, but that’s worth the attempt, right?”

“As long as you remember what he’s capable of,” Mulan sighed. “I don’t want to see you in ruins again over him.”

“I love you,” Belle sighed, settling down against Mulan’s side with her head on the other woman’s shoulder. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Mulan wrapped an arm around her back, and held her close. “I love you too. And I want you to be happy, Belle.”

“Thanks,” Belle said, her eyes drifting closed. The coffee had done nothing: her body was exhausted and she could barely stay alert. Mulan was listing back too, her body sagging into the couch. “And thanks for being here for Ruby, too.”

“I love her,” Mulan murmured, her voice far away and dreamy. “I’m here as long as she’ll have me.”

Belle nodded, sleep claiming her once more as the world went cool and dark around her, and she drifted away.

When she next opened her eyes, there was another body pressed to her other side, and a blanket draped over her. The sound of a daytime TV show – Oprah, maybe – filtered through, and she blinked up to see Ruby sat beside her, remote in her hand as she flicked through the channels.

“Look who’s awake,” Ruby said. “The hospital called with an update. Granny managed a meal and her vitals are stable.”

“Oh thank God,” Belle sighed, hauling herself upright. She had a crick in her neck from sleeping so long on Mulan’s shoulder; Mulan was still fast asleep. She rubbed the side of her neck with her hand, wincing at the stiffness. “How long were we out?”

“Well it’s four pm now,” Ruby said. “So I got a solid five hours. We gotta talk about the diner, though. No more time for crying and sleeping.”

“What about the diner?” Belle asked, still a little groggy. Ruby pursed her lips, and turned off the TV.

“Well, I know fuck all about insurance but I’m pretty sure Granny’s was tied to her diner income. So if the diner stays closed, then whatever magic your terrifying sort-of boyfriend is working on the insurance company might run out. Ergo, we have to open the diner.”

“Well, you can cook,” Belle said, kicking her brain into gear. “Mulan and I have waitressed plenty of times before. If I take evenings I can stay at the library and keep the money coming in from there, and Mulan can take the days. We can talk to Ashley about her maternity leave; maybe see if she can stick around doing low-energy stuff until we figure out something better? Have her staffing the front desk or something.”

“I can’t do the full menu by myself,” Ruby said. “And we can’t hire someone else.”

“No one will mind a limited menu,” Belle said, gently. “We know basically everyone in town, and they all love Granny. They’ll understand if we scale back to just the burgers and a few specials. No one was eating the weird avocado dishes anyway. Back to basics won’t bother anyone.”

“You’re… planning to stick around then?” Ruby asked, and Belle was stunned to see her nervous eyes flick from Belle to Mulan and back again. “Long-term, I mean?”

“Of course we are!” she cried, “God, Rubes, as if we’d abandon you now.”

“You guys want to travel, it’s what you do,” she said, awkwardly, as Belle pulled away. “I can’t hold you back. And I don’t want to be relying on people who-”

“Who could be here today, gone tomorrow,” Belle finished. Ruby pressed her lips into a thin line, and nodded. “I’m so sorry I did that before, Ruby. I really am. But things are different now: you know that. My family is here,” Belle told her. “You and Granny and…” she stopped, trailing off before the next words could come out of her mouth. Had she really been about to name Gold and Bae on that list? Mulan was right: she really did need some emotional space.

“Belle?” Ruby prompted. Belle swallowed.

“My father’s grave is here, my home, everyone I love, everything that matters is in Storybrooke. Even before Granny, even before all of this, I was feeling that way.”

“What if something changes?” Ruby asked. “I mean, what if Gold fucks up yet again, which y’know, isn’t unlikely, or Granny… if the worst happened”

She couldn’t say the words, but Belle knew what she meant. “Then I’ll still be here with you,” Belle said. “I’ll still be here until I’m older than Granny, and you’ll be so sick of me you’ll be begging me to get back on the road.”

Ruby snorted through her nose. “I can’t make Mulan stay though.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” Belle said. “You couldn’t pry that woman away from you with a crowbar. Trust me, okay? You can rely on us. We’re here for the long haul.”

“Thank you,” Ruby breathed, and then Belle was wrapped up again in Ruby’s long arms, and she held her friend close, stroking her back as tears wet her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Belle breathed. “Shh, it’s okay.”

They sat that way for a while, Ruby’s head on Belle’s shoulder, enjoying the closeness. Ruby turned the TV back on, and Belle drew a certain banal comfort from the daytime television, even as she paid little attention. She allowed her mind to wander instead, to forget for a moment that Granny had ever gotten sick, or that Moe had died, or that Gold had ever reappeared in her life. For a few long minutes, Belle could pretend that Granny’s living room was a hotel on another continent, and that she could breathe without her chest aching from the strain.

“What are we doing tonight, then?” she asked eventually, once Mulan had awoken and they had filled her in on the plan.

“Tonight we’re gonna order pizza and watch a movie,” Ruby said. “I was thinking about this, and it’s already six pm so we’re not going to get customers in tonight.”

“We’ll need to call Ashley,” said Belle. “And a tonne of other people, so they know we’re open for business.”

“We need to call Ashley and Leroy,” Ruby corrected. “Leroy will have everyone else aware within an hour.”

“Fair point,” Belle agreed. “How about we try and keep things small tomorrow, though?”

“I don’t see how we can,” Ruby said. “The diner’s popular, and we can’t be turning people away.”

“Tomorrow night isn’t about getting back to normal, though,” Mulan interjected, quietly. “It’s about getting the support of the town. We’re going to mess up, it’s bound to happen. None of us has ever run a business before, after all.”

“Gee, way to bolster morale there,” Belle muttered. Mulan rolled her eyes.

“I’m just being practical,” she said. “The best way to get the sort of leeway we need is to not try and be independent. Everyone loves Granny, so why not include them?”

“You mean like, make it invite-only?” Ruby asked, frowning. Belle could see her mind working.

“And don’t be responsible for the food,” Mulan added. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this but… my mom is the potluck queen of the Bay Area. I’ve run about a hundred of those events.”

“You’re citing your _mom_?” Belle asked. “Wow, you are committed.”

“Shut up,” Mulan retorted, snorting through her nose. “I’ve still got my black belt.”

“And apparently a seat on the PTA,” Belle snickered, then yelped, “OW!”

Mulan shrugged, and withdrew her fist from Belle’s arm, “You were warned.”

“A potluck?” Ruby clarified, bringing them back on topic. Mulan nodded.

“Yeah it’s really simple. You tell everyone they have to bring food, and we serve up whatever you’re planning to put on the menu so they can try that as well. We handle the drinks so we get the hang of waitressing again, but there’s no danger of wrong orders or people starving.”

“It also means we’re reminding people that Granny’s sick,” Belle added. “And that we’re cobbling this together on community support. Mulan’s right, that’ll buy us a lot more good will than just reopening.”

Ruby agreed, and between them they started to plan in earnest, dividing up phone calls, cleaning, and cooking jobs for the following day.

“Are we inviting Mr Gold?” Ruby asked, looking up from her invite list. She made a face as she said it, “Belle, I hope you appreciate what it takes for me to even ask that question.”

“I’m supposed to call him tonight,” Belle said. “I’ll mention it, but…”

“But you’re not going to invite him, right?” Mulan looked up from the pizza menu spread on her lap. “Right, Belle?”

“Okay even I’m gonna say that was a little harsh,” Ruby said, holding up her palms. “I mean, he’s a rat bastard but he did basically save her life yesterday.”

“It’s not him I have an issue with,” Mulan said, giving Belle a pointed look. Belle blinked back. “I have to say it?” she asked. “Fine, okay. If we invite Gold, regardless of how much we want to grille him on a hundred different things, slap him, or thank him for his help yesterday, he and Belle will have sex in a bathroom. It’s just a guarantee.”

“Mulan!” Belle gasped, a hand flying to cover her mouth. A mix of shame, outrage and laughter rushed to the surface at once, rendering her speechless. Mulan just shrugged.

“It’s true,” she said, spreading her hands. “You know I’m right.” Her face softened, and she sighed, “Belle you said it yourself, you need space to figure things out. You’re not going to get that if he’s suddenly part of the gang. You need to take Dr Hopper up on his offer to get help – in fact, he’s got to be on the call list – and take some time for yourself. If he’s worth it, he’ll wait.”

“We have a gang?” Ruby asked. Mulan sighed.

“You know what I mean. If we invite him, all the emotional crap will happen again, especially if his kid is around as well.”

“I know,” Belle sighed. “I know. I still have to call him.”

“Phone calls are acceptable,” Mulan said, with a small smile. “There’s a limit to how much trouble you can get into over the phone.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “Well, you know that’s not true.”

Mulan waved her off with her hand, “Go call him before you forget what I said and decide to move in with him or something.”

“Fine,” Belle rose to her feet, and went into the diner, dialling Gold’s number as she took a seat by the window. She didn’t bother to turn the lights on: electricity was expensive, and the streetlights lit the room just fine.

The phone rang, and as it did she watched raindrops trickle down the windows, the snow outside from the day before melting rapidly into slush. The rain would freeze in the night, she thought, and form black ice. She thanked God right then that she didn’t have anywhere else to go tomorrow.

For a moment, through the dark and the rain, the diner as silent and empty as Belle had ever seen it. It felt as if she were somewhere else entirely, somewhere alien and foreign. The streetlights made bright patterns in the puddles and the drops on the glass, and threw long shadows through the diner.

Finally, she heard his voice on the other end, “This is Gold.”

“Hi,” she said. She smiled to hear his tone soften instantly.

“Belle,” he sighed. “How are you?”

“I’m… I’m doing better,” she told him. “Granny ate a meal today.”

“That’s wonderful,” Gold said. Belle hummed in agreement.

“How did it go with the insurance company?” she asked. “I haven’t heard anything more from the hospital.”

There was a pause. “It’s all taken care of,” he said, after a moment. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Cam,” she started, worried by his cagey tone, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Mrs Lucas will receive all the care she needs, I took care of it.”

Belle took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, calming her frazzled nerves. “You promise?” she asked, hating how small and childish her voice sounded.

“I promise, sweetheart,” he said. “Please don’t worry about that.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding to herself. “Okay. I… thank you, Cam. Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said. “It was a small thing, just a few phone calls.”

“What have you been doing today?” she asked. “How’s Bae?”

“He’s worried about Mrs Lucas,” he told her. “He’ll be pleased to hear that she’s doing better.”

“You guys should visit,” Belle blurted. Gold made a doubtful noise. “In the hospital, I mean.”

“I… will take that under advisement. And probably wear body armour, should I follow through. Mrs Lucas may be bedbound but I’m certain she’d still be able to inflict some damage if given a chance.”

Belle snorted through her nose, and she heard an awkward laugh on the other end of the line. The silence stretched, and she found she didn’t know how to begin, how to say what she needed to say. She had once found him the easiest person in the world to talk to. But back then, she supposed, they were always talking but they never said anything.

“Belle?” he asked, after a moment. “Are you still there?”

“I’m here,” she said. “I… I need to talk about something.”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

She swallowed again, and tried not to feel like a traitor every time he called her that. Mulan was right: they needed time apart, to work things out. They couldn’t start a relationship with her in this state, with so much to do and so much to cope with. They deserved better than that.

It didn’t stop her from wanting to run across town and hurl herself into his arms. The thought of him not present tomorrow with the rest of the town was painful: she needed him at her side. Which, of course, was precisely the reason he couldn’t be.

“We’re organising a potluck tomorrow, to raise some money for Granny,” she said. “And to help reopen the diner. I… can’t invite you.”

“I doubt many would miss me,” he said, but she heard the hurt in his voice and winced. “I understand.”

“No!” she cried, “No, no you don’t. It’s not… I want you there, I do. I just… that’s the reason you can’t be there, you know?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” he said. “Belle, are you alright?”

“I’m not,” she said. “I… god I’m not, no.”

“You’re not making it easy for me to not want to come and help,” he warned. “You’re worrying me here, darling.”

“I know,” she said, gulping. “I know, I’m sorry. I just… need time, you know? If you come tomorrow we’ll end up having desperate sex again and that’s not the best way forward. Every time we do that something bad happens, and my head gets all messy and I can’t think straight. So I’m stepping back, for a little while. Until I know how I feel and what I really want. I’m even going to get therapy, Dr Hopper all but forced his card into my hand yesterday.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart,” he sighed. “And… I think that’s the right choice, however much I’d like to be beside you through this. I trust your friends to keep an eye on you. I ah… I changed the offer, by the way. The anonymous offer on the house.”

“I thought you were revoking that,” she said, sharply, his words a punch to the gut. “I told you I wouldn’t sell to you, why on Earth would you think this had changed that?”

“I put my name on it,” he said, simply. “Granny’s insurance is covered but you deserve a chance at real financial independence. I wasn’t joking when I said Regina’s offer is an insult. You can’t start a life on that paltry sum, Belle.”

“Is this really the time?” she asked, reliving the whole fight again in her head, the distrust and betrayal, the look in his eyes. Her inheritance had caused them nothing but pain; it was the trigger for all the other conflict. Why he would bring it up again now she had no idea.

“Perhaps not,” he agreed. “You need sleep, and time to recuperate. I just wanted you to know that the offer is still open, should you wish to take it. In the name of full disclosure, since I won’t be seeing you for a while.”

“I suppose,” she mumbled.

There was a long pause, neither knowing what to say next. “Belle,” Gold said, at last. “If the Nolans are on your guest list, would Bae be welcome? I know he’d love to see you.”

“Of course,” Belle breathed. “I’d love him to come. Cam, my needing space from us doesn’t mean goodbye forever, and certainly doesn’t extend to Bae. Not this time. It just means –“

“It means what it means,” he said. “It means keeping my distance, I understand.”

“And you trust me to come back?” she asked, her breath baited on the answer. She heard his low exhale.

“I do,” he said. “But I’ll miss you every minute until then.” He sighed, low and long, exhausted.

“I’ll miss you too,” she said, softly. Her heart ached for it even now, longing to prolong the phone call, knowing she had to end it soon.

“Get some sleep, okay? You’ve had a hard few days.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Cam. Sleep well. Kiss Bae for me.”

“I will,” he promised. “Goodnight.”

Belle ended the call, and set the phone down on the table in front of her, drumming her fingers on the table. It took all her strength not to call him back that very moment and ask to come round, to sleep the night in his bed again. Anything would be better than this, this overwhelmed, blank horror at the trauma of the past few days. She needed sleep. She needed time. She needed to stop and breathe and make sense of things. She needed him. She couldn’t have them all at once.

She closed her eyes to the streetlights and the rain, and for a moment she imagined that the cool, peaceful dark would swallow her whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Gold does the brave thing and reaps the rewards


	29. Out of the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early because of recent events, and we all need some comfort (and some in-character Rumbelle interaction). So here, have the very auspicious beginnings of a real happy ending.

Three days after saying goodbye to Belle, Gold found himself once again at the main doors to Storybrooke General.

Even now, he didn’t know why he’d come. He hadn’t been joking to Belle about the body armour. The moment he said what he had to say, Granny was going to rip his throat out, heart attack or no. In all honesty, Bae’s trusting little hand in his was as much a defence as it was an excuse to visit.

It was Thanksgiving today, so perhaps he had harboured some small hope that Granny would feel forgiving and trusting, grateful even, in the spirit of the holiday. In all honesty, however, he’d chosen the day only because he knew Belle, Mulan and Ruby were all planning to visit later with leftovers, leaving a half hour of visiting hours wide open before Mary Margaret was due to arrive. With any luck, he and Bae could be out of the hospital before Mary Margaret got there, leaving some small hope that Gold wouldn’t be interrogated about it later at their own celebration with the Nolans. He doubted it, though.

“Do you think she’ll like the picture I drew for her?” Bae asked, worriedly. “It doesn’t look much like her.”

“Oh, I think it’s a fairly clear likeness,” Gold assured him. “She’ll love it, I’m sure.”

They rounded the corner to Granny’s room, and Gold swallowed hard, nerves fluttering in his stomach. Being a liar and a coward had been much easier than this new attempt at courage and honesty, and every inch of him wanted to run, leave Bae with Granny and let Mary Margaret collect him later.

He steeled himself: Belle needed him to do this, even if she didn’t know it yet. This was for Belle, for their future, and that thought gave him the strength to push the door open, and let Bae run inside.

“Granny!” Bae cried, happily, running for the bed. Granny looked better than Gold had expected, at least: he had worried he was exposing Bae to a grey-faced, miserable, weak old woman who would resemble nothing of the fierce matronly figure he remembered. Granny looked tired, but there was colour in her cheeks, and she wore a comfortable bathrobe over her hospital gown. She beamed at Bae, and patted the bed for him to jump up and hug her.

“Hey there, little Bae,” she said, hugging him tight. “How’d you get in here?”

“Papa brought me!” he announced, and turned to point to Gold, hovering in the doorway.

“Did he now?” Granny’s eyes narrowed in surprise and suspicion, “Why did he do that?”

“The boy worried for you,” Gold explained, feeling more and more awkward with every passing second. Granny didn’t know about his and Belle’s history, and the two of them had never had anything less than an acrimonious relationship. “I thought it would do him good to see you’re still kicking.”

“That was thoughtful,” she murmured, her icy tone belying her words.

“I drew you a picture!” Bae announced, as if to break the tension between the two adults. Granny returned her full attention to him with a broad smile, leaving Gold to find his way to one of the visitor chairs and sit himself down.

She talked to Bae for a few minutes, noticing details on the picture and asking after Emma. Her eyes slid to Gold a couple of times, as if trying to work him out, to read his intentions here. Gold kept his face carefully blank, waiting for the right moment to speak.

“Bae?” she said, after Bae finished describing Emma’s plans to catch Santa in the act this Christmas, “Would you mind running down the hall and seeing if you can get me a glass of water? A nurse should be able to help you.”

“Sure, Granny!” Bae’s little chest puffed with responsibility, and he jumped off the bed, running off down the hall.

“So,” she said, her voice drained of all the warmth it had possessed moments earlier. “Why’re you really here?”

“I need to discuss a financial arrangement with you,” Gold said, matching her tone ice for ice.

“You’re here for the rent?” she cried, incredulous, “For heaven’s sake you vulture! I’m in the _hospital,_  I’ve hardly got the cash box on me!”

Gold tried hard to swallow down his vitriolic response, knowing he deserved her distrust. This woman had never been anything but hard, cold and suspicious toward him, but she was a second mother to Belle. Somewhere behind that frosty glare was the endlessly generous, kind, maternal woman who had more than earned the good turn he was doing her. If he had any hope of a future with Belle, he needed Granny on side. He harboured no illusions about that: a life with Belle meant a life featuring her little family, and strife between them would only cause them further pain.

Gold had never been a good man, and he hadn’t a selfless bone in his body. His soul was always cold, selfish and dark, but for Belle he would force in the light she craved if it killed him. For Belle he would climb mountains without his cane, although he thought right now that would likely be easier than this conversation.

“This has nothing to do with the rent,” Gold said, trying to sound gentle and patient, and likely failing at both. “If it did, I’d discuss it with your granddaughter. Although, as a matter of fact, I will be _cutting_ your rent quite significantly for the time being, to account for your reduced takings.”

“Oh?” Granny’s eyes narrowed. “That seems… generous.”

“And hideously out of character,” he agreed, under his breath. “However, the documents have been drawn up, and I’m sure your granddaughter won’t mind signing on your behalf. Once you’re back on your feet and back in the kitchen we can renegotiate. That isn’t why I’m here, however.”

Granny was still eyeing him, as if she didn’t believe a word, and he could tell she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He himself was stunned at the words coming out of his mouth, although he meant everything he said. Belle was living at the Inn for free, after all, and had been for months. He expected she and her friends would continue to reside there for the next months, and times would be hard with Granny out of commission. If he was committed to helping Belle in every way he could, then this was vital.

“Then why are you here?” she asked, at last, when the silence stretched.

“As you may well be aware, your health insurance cover will run out at the end of this week,” he said, slowly. “This is a result of the costs incurred from emergency bypass surgery, on top of the medications and lifesaving care you have received thus far.”

“Those bastards,” Granny muttered, her face losing the last of its colour and joviality, sinking back into the pillows. Dread and a terrible weariness made the lines in her face deepen, and she suddenly looked small, fearful, and a hundred years older. The change was unsettling in the extreme. “You working for them now, then?” she asked, her voice smaller than it should be, “Here to throw an old woman out of her hospital bed?”

“Far from it,” Gold assured her. “I’m here, in fact, to inform you that your medical bills are covered, for as long as you may need. Any length of hospital stay, any medications, any long-term nursing care or home visits, anything you require is taken care of.”

Granny’s face slackened, and struggled up to sit straight. She stared at him, as if she thought she had misheard him. “And… who’s paying for that, then?”

“I am,” Gold said, simply. “If you’ll allow me.”

Granny gaped at him, and for a moment he knew he had flummoxed her. He grinned to himself and settled back: it seemed one could still have fun, even without being outright cruel.

Then her face cleared, as if she’d figured him out. She nodded.

“If I didn’t know you, or what you’ve been doing behind closed doors, I’d call this charity and refuse,” she warned. “But you’re not the charitable sort, and this is about Belle. You’re trying to make up for breaking her heart by helping fix mine.”

This time, it was Gold’s turn to gape. “I… beg your pardon?” he stammered, entirely caught off guard by the revelation that Granny knew – apparently had known for some time – about his and Belle’s relationship. “Whatever would Be- Miss French have to do with this?”

Granny raised an eyebrow, a little smugly, the shoe now on the other foot. “Her father told me about you, you know,” she told him. “After she left town five years ago, he came to the Inn one night drunk, raging about the two of you being together, about how you’d been at it for years behind his back. He said the Mayor had told him to keep his trap shut, but he wanted everyone to know what you did, and he was starting with me.”

“And yet you somehow kept that from happening,” Gold noted, unsurprised now to hear Moe had told more than just Regina. “Why?”

“Well it certainly wasn’t on your account! Not that there’s much that could dent your _sterling_ reputation,” she added, sarcastically. She took a deep breath, the fire draining, and her expression grew grave. “My Belle’s a good girl, Gold. She’s as much my family as Ruby is. I wouldn’t have her name dragged through the mud even by her own father – especially by him – and I told him as much. I told him he owed me a goddamned debt for raising that girl right when he went and gave up. I got that girl her high school diploma, got her through college… I dealt with every heartbreak, every drunken incident, every fight the two of them had that left her broken. Shamed him hard enough he never said another word. Only respectable thing he ever did for her, if you ask me.”

“I should… I owe you thanks for that, then,” Gold said, softly. “For your care of Belle, and for being her defender.”

Granny snorted through her nose. “She needs one, you know. She’s such a strong little thing but she carries the weight of the world. I hoped… I had hoped she’d tell me about the two of you, someday, especially when it was clear you’d reconnected. But she keeps her castles close, that one.”

“She’s working on that,” Gold said, softly. “We both are.”

Granny pursed her lips. “Old fool, you are,” she muttered, with something akin to pity in her tone that he didn’t think he appreciated. “Re-opening wounds that should be closed. You helped break her the first time; don’t think I didn’t notice your part in that. She shattered and she ran away, and we lost her for years. You’re an idiot if you think I won’t get my shotgun, if anything like that happens again.”

“I’m trying to make amends for that,” he assured her.

“And you think I’ll take your money and help you out with that?” Granny asked, incredulous. “Old fool indeed.”

“Think of it as repayment of overpaid rent,” he said, spreading his hands, desperately trying to find his equilibrium. No wonder Moe French kept his mouth shut, he thought, if this was half the shaming Granny had visited on him. Gold almost felt pity for the old drunk. Almost. “We both know I’ve been overcharging you for decades now, and I haven’t exactly been gracious about it. And… and it’s only what I owe you, for taking such good care of Belle these past months, years even. If it’s to be on her behalf, think of it as coming from her. Her wounds are largely my fault, and-”

“You made Moe French’s heart stop, then?” Granny interrupted, raising her eyebrows. “That’s some power you have.”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “You need to accept the money, Mrs Lucas. It’s the only way you get the care you need, short of a massive bank loan or a lottery win. And it is only your due.”

“Belle won’t see it way,” she warned. “She’ll know you’re trying to buy your way back into her good books. She’ll know you’re doing this for her.”

Gold swallowed hard, “That’s my problem to deal with,” he said. “And I’ll tell her the moment she’ll speak to me again.”

“Ah, so I’m keeping your secrets again, am I?” Granny shook her head. “I won’t lie to her.”

“She doesn’t need me mixed up in this,” Gold pleaded. “She’s… she’s made it clear we’re not going to be speaking for a while.”

“Well, I’m glad she still has some sense left in that head of hers,” Granny muttered. Gold sighed.

“She doesn’t need to be worrying about what I’m up to when it’s her time to heal.” Granny’s eyes narrowed, but he saw her considering it. He swallowed, and stopped himself from arguing any further. Granny would make her own decision; there was nothing he could do about that. “What matters now is whether you’ll accept the money.”

“I got your water Granny!” Bae announced, walking back into the room and cutting Granny off from replying. Bae was carrying a cup of water reverently in his hands, and Granny thanked him with a warm smile as she took it.

“Thank you, Bae,” she said. “That was very kind.”

“It took _forever_ ,” he sighed, slumping his little shoulders. “The water tap was broken and Nurse Anna took me all the way to the next floor, and then we bumped into Sister Astrid and she was asking about Thanksgiving and her sister it took _years_!” He finished, dramatically. He glanced between the two adults, and his tone changed to curiosity, “What were you and papa talking about?” Bae asked, and Gold hated how concerned he looked, how clear it was that he knew his father didn’t get on with his friends.

He hoped he could change that. It was dawning on him, at last, that a happy life with both Belle and Bae might well involve cultivating good relationships with many of the same people. He might be content to shut himself away in his fortress with only his loved ones and let the rest of the world rot, but his loved ones didn’t feel the same way. Between them Belle and Bae had the biggest hearts of anyone he’d ever known, full of kindness and love and light for everyone they met. He’d tried to keep them shut away in the dark with him, and it had only brought them heartbreak. This time, he had to force himself to open the shutters and let some light in.

Best to start with the wolf-mother herself, he thought, reluctantly, his eyes returning to Granny.

“Your father was just telling me about a favour he’s going to do me,” Granny said, her hard eyes set on Gold. “It was a very generous offer, I’d be an idiot not to accept. Assuming it comes in writing.”

“Oh?” Bae asked. “What’re you gonna do, papa?”

“I’m just helping Granny recover faster, Bae,” he explained with a smile. “So she can go back to making those burgers you love so much.” He looked to Granny, relieved and grateful to have her assent, her tacit blessing. “I’ll send the documents in with Mr Dove, when it’s his turn to visit,” he told her. “But it’s already taken care of.”

“I just want to be able to sue your ass if you’re lying to me,” Granny warned, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that had never been there in any of their previous conversations.

“Understood,” Gold inclined his head. “I’d best be going, I believe it’s on me to bring some sort of side dish this afternoon, and I’d best get started. Bae, do you want to stay with Mrs Lucas? Mary Margaret should be here any time, and I can meet you at theirs’ for dinner later on.”

“Sure, thanks papa!” Bae grinned, already bringing out the second of the five pictures he and Emma had drawn for Granny from his backpack. Granny met Gold’s eyes at the door, and she nodded her thanks. He left with an odd warmth in his chest: the feeling he supposed some people got from having done a good deed.

It was unsettling in the extreme. It only worsened over the following hours, as he obeyed Bae’s wishes and took up Mary Margaret’s unprecedented invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. Bae had been a fixture at their holiday meals for years, but Gold had never asked to come along, nor had he been invited. He said little over dinner, content to enjoy David’s unexpectedly high quality cooking, and watch the children’s antics from across the table. It still built on that warmth in his soul, to be included, to have people smile at him once in a while, to be included in conversation and family warmth, and to not have to spend the holiday alone in his lair, counting his takings.

Over the next few weeks as November ended and December set in, things started to settle into a routine.

There was an odd sort of déjà vu, Gold began to realise, in once again living his life from one evening encounter to the next.

Once, he had lived for the evenings, when he would come home from work and find Belle cradling his son in her arms, burning dinner or reading on the sofa. He had spent the hours in between all but holding his breath, his mind already settled into the next piece of Belle and Bae-filled time that awaited him. With her gone, Bae had become unruly, hitting his terrible twos with gusto and missing that calming, kind presence he couldn’t name but definitely noticed was gone. Gold had – in a manner that shamed him now, in retrospect – gratefully handed him off to Mary Margaret more days than not.

The warm hours spent with his family every day dwindled to minutes before bed and in the mornings before work, when Bae was too sleepy to scream. The light had gone, and it took years before he had found a way to reconnect with his son.

Now, he lived from evening to evening once again. Every night at six-thirty pm, he picked Bae up from outside Granny’s, where Mary Margaret had taken to having dinner with the children. The diner needed the extra revenue with Granny in the hospital, she had explained, and Ruby needed all the support she could get. So Emma and Bae drank their cocoa and ate their dinners, and Gold collected his son outside afterward. By unspoken command, he was forbidden to enter the diner. Belle would let him back into her life when she was ready, he understood that, and the diner was her territory as much as the shop was his.

Still, he lived for the moments when he would glance inside, and see that she had taken a moment out of her waitressing duties to ruffle Bae’s hair, or oversee his colouring, or help with the homework spread out on the table. He would watch through the glass, and sometimes she would notice, look up and meet his eyes. She would smile, then, and wave, and Bae would follow and wave too. It was a peculiar kind of torture, to see the two of them on one side of the glass, and to be consigned to the other.

At least Bae was happy, he thought. At least Bae saw her every day, had her smiles and her affection. And a smile and a wave once a day was so much better than the animosity and silence that had preceded it.

She would come back, eventually. If they were to make anything of it this time, he had to trust Belle, the way he hadn’t before. It didn’t mean that those five minutes stood outside of the diner, watching the life he had dreamed of for years happen without him, weren’t the hardest moments of the day.

Then he would hear the door open, and Mary Margaret would bring Bae outside. “Why don’t you wait in the diner tomorrow?” she asked, every night. “It’s freezing out here!”

“I like the night air,” he would shrug. “And the scent of overcooked lasagne is hardly appealing.”

“Fine,” Mary Margaret always shrugged, and shook her head. “It’s up to you.”

Having said their goodbyes, Gold would walk his son home, and catch up on the day. Bae would sit and finish his homework while Gold ate his own dinner, and then it was time for bed. The next evening, the whole tableau repeated itself, and again, and again.

After three weeks in this new routine, Bae finally broke ranks. “Papa?” he asked, while they sat at the dinner table, Bae with his homework and Gold with his dinner.

“Yes, Bae?”

“Did you and Miss Belle have a fight?”

“I’m sorry?”

Bae frowned, and tried again, “Did you have a fight with Miss Belle?” he asked, again.

“No,” Gold said. “No we didn’t have a fight. Why, did she tell you we did?”

“No,” Bae said. “You guys are just acting really weird.”

“Grown-ups do that sometimes, Bae,” he sighed. “Everything’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” Bae insisted, and Gold sat up a little straighter, surprised by his son’s denial. It was a rare day when Bae outright disagreed with his father. “You never talk to her. You come to the diner but you always wait outside.”

“Bae-“

“You said we had to help her, papa,” Bae reminded him. “But you’re not helping!”

“That’s enough, Bae,” Gold snapped. Bae flinched, and Gold pinched the bridge of his nose, adopting a softer tone before continuing. “I promise you I am helping all I can. And you’re helping; I know you are. We’re just helping in different ways.”

“Why do you never come inside?” Bae asked. “It’s warm inside.”

“It’s complicated, Bae,” Gold replied. “Let’s just leave it at that, alright?”

“Fine,” Bae muttered, sulkily. “But I think you should come inside.”

“Bae…” Gold warned. Bae went back to his homework without another comment, his whole posture entirely too pre-teen for Gold’s liking. He’d hoped he had another year or so of innocence and childhood before the sulking and slamming doors kicked in. “I’m sorry, Bae,” he said, at last. “I am. I just know Belle doesn’t want me in there right now. Trust me, okay?”

“’Kay, papa,” Bae said.

Gold sighed, knowing he was going soft in his old age. Bae’s intentions were in the right place, he was just still far too young to understand the mess the grown-ups around him had made. It didn’t mean he deserved his head bitten off for voicing an opinion. Gold had never wanted to be that sort of parent.

“You want some ice cream?” he asked. Bae tried to keep sulking, but Gold caught the interest in his eyes.

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“You guess?” Gold sighed dramatically, and rose to his feet, taking his now-empty plate through to the kitchen. “Fine,” he said. “I suppose I can finish all the chocolate by myself then.”

“No, no!” Bae cried, jumping to his feet and running in after him. “I want ice cream, I do!”

Gold grinned, and took two bowls from the cabinet, serving up two portions of chocolate ice cream from the freezer and handing one to Bae.

“Thanks papa,” Bae smiled, the earlier incident already forgotten. Gold ruffled his hair, and led them through to the living room, to eat their dessert in front of the television. The rare treat mollified Bae, and the whole messy Belle topic was forgotten in the midst of an animated movie of Bae’s choosing. Gold settled in with his arm around his son, and drew an immense comfort from the sturdy little body next to him.

“Hey, papa?” Bae looked up at him, two-thirds of the way through the movie, and Gold paused it.

“Yes, Bae?”

“Miss Belle said Granny’s gonna come home tomorrow,” he said. “So she’s gonna be okay, yeah?”

“I think she is, yes,” Gold said. “The doctors say she should be back in her kitchen by the spring.”

“That’s good,” Bae said, decisively. “I was worried.”

“I know, Bae,” Gold said, cuddling him closer. “So were we all.”

Bae was silent for long enough that Gold picked up the remote, ready to turn the movie back on. “Papa?”

“Yes, Bae?”

“If you had a heart attack, like Granny…” Bae started, and Gold turned to look down at him, seeing the fear and misery writ plain across Bae’s face, “If that happened you’d be okay too, right? Not like Belle’s dad. You’d be like Granny and be okay.”

“I hope so, Bae,” Gold said, heavily. “I really hope so.”

“Promise me,” Bae insisted. “Papa?”

“I promise I’ll never leave you, okay?” Gold said.

“Good,” Bae said again, and curled in close. Gold pressed a kiss to the top of his curly head, and breathed him in, holding him as tight as he could and praying he would be able to keep his promise. It would take more than a goddamned heart attack to keep him from his son, of that he was certain.

The following day, a little earlier than usual, Gold arrived at the diner as usual to collect Bae. He watched through the window as Bae shovelled fries into his open mouth, while Ruby chatted to Mary Margaret. Belle was nowhere to be seen, but if Bae was right then she was likely upstairs tending to Granny.

Early as he was, Gold had no issue sitting down on one of the damp outside benches and waiting for Bae to be ready. It was almost peaceful, in fact, to sit there in the winter dark, his breath puffing like smoke, his hands braced on his cane. It gave his ankle a rest, at the very least.

When he glanced up again, Belle had returned to the diner. He met her eyes in the glass, but she didn’t smile; she didn’t wave. Anxiety coiled in his gut at this change, at the strange sadness in her eyes and the way she froze in place. Something was wrong. Had something happened with Granny? If so, why was Ruby laughing at Emma’s dragon impression?

He was stunned when he saw the diner door open, and Belle picked her way down the stairs, the wood slippery and treacherous in her favoured high heels.

“Belle,” he said, his voice belying his surprise: the first words he’d said to her in a month. “Hey.”

“We need to talk,” she said, and his heart began to race. She didn’t look happy. He didn’t know how she looked: confusion, hurt, anger, and relief all warred on her face.

“We haven’t talked in weeks,” he noted, remembering the silence like a stab to the chest. It was so wonderful to have her near, to hear her voice, even if this wasn’t the joyous reunion he’d pictured. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, and he reeled, stunned. He rose to his feet to meet her, wincing as his ankle protested. The cold really wasn’t good for the joint. “Not right now. It’s too confusing.” She buried her hands in her hair, trying to gather her thoughts. She looked distraught.

“Belle, what’s the matter?” he asked again. “What’s happened?”

“Granny came home today,” she said. He nodded.

“Yes, Bae told me. You must be overjoyed. Apparently she’s on the mend.”

“Yes, she is!” Belle cried. “And it’s amazing, isn’t it? I mean, that her awful, threadbare insurance would cover all of her medication, and three weeks in the hospital for recovery, _and_ a nurse to come and check in on her every other day! I mean it’s _incredible_ , right?”

Gold’s heart sank, knowing now exactly where this was going. “Belle, I-“

“No, you know what? It was so amazing that I called the insurance company to thank them, and find out if we owed them anything extra. I mean it’s a hell of a service, isn’t it? For a self-employed woman in her seventies, with limited savings, to get all of that covered? It’s a miracle.”

“I can explain…”

“So I called them,” she continued, nodding, her teeth bared in a smile that looked like a grimace, her hands planted on her hips. “I called them and you know what they said?”

“Belle-“

“They said their coverage stopped weeks ago, the day after the operation,” she finished. “Said a relative, a man claiming to be Granny’s nephew, called them back and told them he had it covered from here on out. And so I called the hospital, to corroborate. You realise you’re the only Scotsman in Storybrooke, right? And you’re literally everyone’s landlord – _people recognise you on the phone_!”

“She’s better, isn’t she?” he said, desperately. “I told you I’d take care of it, and I did!”

“You covered her medical bills!” she cried, “Without telling me! You lied to me!” “I thought we were done with this,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I thought you were done going behind my back and lying to me and-“

“I didn’t lie,” he corrected. “I told you I had it taken care of, and you took me at my word.”

“That’s a cheap technicality,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “And you know it.”

“I did you a favour!” he cried. “And I’ll keep doing it! Granny’s insurance would have had her home two weeks ago with no on-going care, just prescription medications and not even all of what she needed to make a full recovery. So I made a call.”

“You made a call.”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “And Granny agreed to it, so are you honestly angry with me for saving her life?”

“I’m angry that I’m in your debt now, when I told you so many times I didn’t want to be!” she said. “I’m angry that apparently you got Granny to agree to withhold information from me! I’m angry you just went off and did this huge, ridiculous, _generous_ thing without even telling me!”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he insisted. “Please, Belle. I didn’t do it so you’d owe me.”

“Well I do,” she said, stubbornly. “God, every time I start to trust you…”

“I knew you’d see it that way,” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t take the money, and it’d be a mistake. You would have to nurse her here, with limited resources and a mountain of debt, and watch her wither and fade for lack of proper care. And then you’d come to me, and sell me the house to pay for it.”

“That’s why you kept the offer open,” she said, her mouth falling open. “So… what? So I’d have a way to repay you?”

“If you wanted to,” he finished. “If you decided you didn’t… if you didn’t come back, like you said. If you realised this wasn’t what you wanted after all. I wanted to leave you a way to cut ties and get closure if you needed it.”

“ _Jesus_ , Cam,” she buried her head in her hands.

“You lost your father because of me,” he said, helplessly. “You said it yourself. I could have kept my mouth shut. I didn’t have to go to him that night and threaten him into acquiescence, but I did, and because of that he threw you out and cut all ties, and now he’s dead. I robbed you of him. I wasn’t about to let you lose another parent, not if I could help it.”

“You should have told me,” she whispered, and to his horror he saw tears forming in her eyes.

“You had enough to cope with without me adding to it,” he shook his head. “I told Granny I’d tell you the moment you were willing to speak to me again. You said you needed distance, and Granny understood that that meant not dragging the complications of my involvement into an already complicated situation. She deserves her best chance, and so do you. All I did was hand over my credit card.”

“I can’t believe you,” she whispered. “I can’t… I can’t believe you. You can’t even do something _nice_ without lying to me!”

He tried to match her ire, to understand her point of view, but he simply couldn’t see it. He didn’t feel a moment’s remorse or regret for what he’d done. “Belle, do you remember that day, the day I took care of this? Only twenty-four hours earlier I had found you freezing to death in your father’s garden. You were in no fit state to make financial decisions: you were barely functioning. You would have turned me down out of pride or justified distrust, or a desire for space, and it would have been the wrong choice for Granny.”

“So you denied me the choice at all,” she accused. He shrugged.

“When you love someone, you do everything you can,” he said. “And it technically wasn’t your choice to make, it was hers, and she agreed. She knew it was by far her best option.”

“Don’t give me that,” Belle sighed. “You didn’t do this for her, you did it for me. At least be honest about that!”

“Even so, to get the care Granny needed, you would have had to sell the house at some point. This way, that choice is still yours. Your home is still in your possession”

“So… I can sell you the house, and we’ll be even?” she asked, dubiously. He gave a half-shrug.

“If you so wish,” he said. “But I have a condition.”

“Oh?”

“If you sell me the house, then we’re finished.”

Her whole face fell, her mouth dropping open as she gaped at him. He remained implacable, his hands braced on his cane. He’d given this a lot of thought, turned it over and over in his head. This was the only solution. They couldn’t be together if she sold him the house: she had said that much several times. She would always resent his stealing of her inheritance from her, no matter how it came. But if she didn’t want to be with him, she deserved an out that left no strings hanging between them.

“What?” she gasped, winded. “Cam, I… _no_.”

“It’s not my preferred option either,” he said, pleading her to understand, to believe him. “I’ll keep paying Granny’s bills if you wish, regardless of our relationship. I owe you that much. But if you really want to cut all ties with me, if that’s your choice, then you can sell me the house and walk away without a backward glance.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to lose you,” she said. “I don’t, I… I love you.”

His heart soared to hear those words after all this time, like water in the desert. “I love you too,” he replied, earnestly. “And this is what you do for people you love. You provide for them, fight for them, no matter what.”

“I can’t accept it,” she shook her head. “I can’t. It’s too much, it’s too big.”

“It’s only what you’re owed from me,” he said. “It’s only what you deserve for how things ended before, and for how I acted once you returned. Granny was there for you when I refused to be, and I’m more than happy to pay for whatever she needs to recover.”

“You shouldn’t have lied to me,” she insisted. “Even by omission.”

“I was trying to do right by you,” he said. “Please, believe that. I thought this was what was best for you.”

“I know,” she said, softly. His surprise winded him for a moment. “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry, I… Dr Hopper’s always talking about my trust issues, especially where you’re concerned. I’m sorry I snapped.”

“It’s more than alright,” he promised, stunned at the change in her attitude, the apology he’d never expected, perhaps didn’t even want. “I deserve far worse.”

“I’m still sorry,” she told him. “I should have heard you out, before I jumped to conclusions. I’m working on that.”

Her soft, warm little hand slipped into his. His whole body sang at the contact, and he squeezed back tentatively, as her thumb found the leather bracelet he had worn on his wrist since the moment she’d gifted it to him.

“You still have it,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of wonder. “My present. You’re still wearing it.”

“It’s one of the few things I own that I truly cherish,” he replied, his voice cracking with emotion. “Because it came from you.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, searching his face for something he couldn’t put name to. “Are you going to sell me the house?” he asked, at last. She shook her head.

“No, I… no,” she bit her lip and took a deep breath, as if coming to some sort of a decision. “We’re going to talk about this some more,” she promised. “I’m going to shout and scream about your dishonesty, how lying is always your first impulse, and you’re going to call me stubborn and short-sighted and over-emotional. And then I’m going to kiss you, a lot, because this was the most selfless thing you’ve ever done, that _anyone_ has ever done for me. I’m going to tell you I love you over and over, until you believe it. We’re going to go round and round until we work all of this out."

“But?”

“But,” she sighed, and shook her head. “But not tonight. I missed you too much to let go of you now, even for a moment. We deserve a happy reunion, don’t you think? After all this time?”

He felt himself smiling, his heart swelling and his whole body warming. “I missed you too,” he told her. She beamed. “No one’s scolded me for weeks, it was disconcerting.”

She snorted through her nose. “It’s a good thing I love you,” she said, stepping closer, until they were almost chest to chest. “Otherwise I’d hate your guts.”

“We both know you’re capable of both at once,” he replied, but he couldn’t keep the ridiculous smile from his face. They had stepped closer, their hands clasped between them, and she was so close he could see the flecks of green in her deep blue eyes.

“No more lies,” she said. “If we’re going to do this, you have to tell me everything, okay? No secrets; not even for my own good.”

“If we’re going to do what?”

“This!” she said, gesturing between them with her free hand. “Us! On the same side of the glass this time!”

“There’s an ‘us’?” he asked, in happy bewilderment. She nodded, smiling bright enough to light the whole street. How she could go from misery to anger to beaming love in the space of seconds he would never understand, but he wasn’t going to try and keep up. He knew better by now.

“You paid for Granny’s medical bills,” she said, blinking in disbelief. “Without expecting anything in exchange. You didn’t even _tell_ me until you’d already done it. You did a truly, honestly selfless thing for me.”

“I want you to be happy, Belle,” he said. “With or without me.”

She didn’t reply to that. Instead, she leaned up on her tiptoes, and used her free hand on his shoulder to bring him down to kiss him, softly and sweetly, her lips so soft and warm against his that he thought he would die from it. He closed his eyes and leaned into it, kissing her back with his hand on her waist, his other still clasped in hers, squeezing tight as fireworks burst behind his eyes. Somehow, despite the years of history and the thousands of kisses they’d shared, this one felt brand new, like the very, very start.

There was a noise from his side, a high-pitched whoop, and they broke apart as Belle giggled through her nose. “Don’t look now,” she murmured. “But I don’t think we’re alone.”

He turned, confused, to see a little audience had gathered on the steps outside the diner. Ruby, Mulan, and Mary Margaret were all watching on benevolently, while Bae – who had been the one to whoop – grinned ear-to-ear. Emma was the only one to look unhappy, her face a picture of disgust.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account!” Ruby cried, grinning. “Go on!”

“Shut up,” Belle retorted, sticking out her tongue.

Bae catapulted himself down the steps, almost tripping over his own feet in his hurry. He wrapped his arms around his father’s waist, hugging him tight. “Hey, Bae,” he said, his hand cupping his son’s head.

“I told you,” Bae said, his voice muffled in Gold’s coat. “I told you!”

“Everything okay, Bae?” Belle asked. Bae didn’t answer, he just reached out one hand to grab hers and pull her closer, so he could hug them both at once. Gold didn’t question it: he just wrapped his free arm around Belle as Belle did the same, pulling them both close. For a moment they stood there, audience be damned, and Gold held his family as tight as he could. It was the most wonderful moment of his life, and his arms were full of more love than he’d ever thought possible.

“Well, seems our trio’s down to two,” he heard Mulan mutter, as Ruby snickered.

“I think it’s sweet,” Mary Margaret chided. “They’re in love. It’s magical.”

“Ew,” said Emma, succinctly.

“We can hear you, you know!” Belle cried, with her voice muffled against Gold’s shoulder.

“We know!” Ruby called back.

A few moments later, footsteps and the bell on the door indicated that their audience had departed, and they were alone together. They stood there a while longer, and Gold swore he didn’t feel the cold, or his ankle, or anything but the warmth and wonder in his arms.

Eventually, however, Belle and Bae began to shiver, and they had to disentangle themselves and go inside. Gold settled himself in a booth with Bae, as Belle made an attempt to go back to work. Every time he caught her eye, however, she couldn’t keep a stupid grin off her face, and he knew he mirrored her. They were together. They were a couple, a family, in public for all to see.

“So what happened?” he heard Ruby ask, while they were both by the bar and he pretended to scrutinise the limited menu they were offering. Bae was fine with sipping his cocoa while his father ate, and good thing too: Gold wasn’t planning on leaving Belle’s side any time soon.

“I love him,” he heard Belle reply, and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. If hearing her say it to him had warmed him through, hearing her declare it to others set him alight.

“Yeah but yesterday you were fine pining through a plate-glass window,” Ruby retorted. “What changed?”

“I… I learned something new,” Belle said, and Gold listened with interest. Was it possible she had confronted him before speaking to her friend? “Rubes, the insurance company didn’t pay for Granny’s care.”

“ _What_?” Ruby screeched. The diner fell silent, and Belle made a face, clearly desperately wishing she’d keep her voice down. “So do we owe them a tonne of money? I thought he’d sorted it!”

“He did,” Belle said, trying to lower Ruby’s tone by example. “He paid for it, all of it; everything but the operation, basically. Apparently Granny was in on it, but she wanted him to have to tell me.”

“He… _paid_ for it?” Ruby repeated, stunned. Her wide eyes flicked from Belle to Gold and back again, Belle smiling encouragingly, Gold trying desperately to look as if he wasn’t listening. She turned to him, and stalked over. The whole diner was silent. “You paid for Granny’s medical bills?” she demanded.

He looked up at her, and tried not to feel afraid of her towering over him. “I did,” he said, simply. “I assure you Belle has already-“

“ _Thank you_ ,” Ruby breathed, and a moment later he was enveloped in a hug, Ruby’s long arms wrapped around his shoulders, the red tips of her dark hair tickling his nose. He met Belle’s eyes over her shoulder, and she shrugged, grinning ear-to-ear. “Thank you so much,” Ruby said again. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

She pulled back, and wiped her eyes. Gold shrugged, helpless and awkward, incapacitated in the face of her gratitude. “I mean,” she sniffed, “you’ve been a dick to Belle, and you've been a right bastard to everyone for years, and I have my eye on you but… God, that’s… _thank you_.”

“It was no matter,” he said.

“It’s a _huge_ matter,” Ruby enthused. “I mean, you eat for free, I mean it, eternal free pass, anything you want on the menu’s yours, on the house.”

“It’s really alright,” Gold insisted. Ruby shook her head.

“I know you did it for Belle and like, that’s fine. But my Granny’s safe and happy watching her soaps in her bed right now because of you. So you and Bae eat free. No arguments.”

“I… thank you, Miss Lucas,” he said. “That’s very kind.”

Ruby hugged him again, and this time he almost managed to hug her back.

Ruby then returned to her duties, and before he could even order she had brought him out his usual, with even more pickles than ‘extra’ usually granted him, and an ice cream for Bae. Belle was watching with raised eyebrows, clearly amused by the whole scene.

“I never thought I’d see the day you and Ruby got along,” she said. Gold shrugged.

“It’ll wear off,” he said. “I don’t know how I’ll cope if it doesn’t.”

“Drama queen,” she teased. She was about to say something else, when a tall woman interrupted her, clearing her throat. “Hey, Sister Astrid,” she greeted. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to thank Mr Gold,” she said, her eyes shifting from Belle to Gold. “What you did for Granny was incredibly kind, you know. If you ever need anything, just ask.”

Gold had never thought he’d see the day one of Storybrooke’s nuns would have a kind word to say to him. After the incident a few years back where he’d almost evicted them for their two months of rent arrears, things had been chilly between them. But then, that was likely before young Sister Astrid had joined the convent.

She didn’t seem to need him to reply; she just offered a smile, and returned to her table.

Belle gave him a wide-eyed smile, “I guess Ruby’s not the only one you’ve impressed,” she said.

The night went on in a similar fashion, with various patrons who had overheard Ruby’s outburst coming over to offer their thanks. Granny was clearly even more beloved in Storybrooke than Gold had thought if so many were willing to approach him to say thank you. Leroy gruffly shook his hand, Mary Margaret hugged him like Ruby had, and even Ashley Boyd mumbled a ‘thank you’ and offered a shy smile on her way through to the inn.

All in all, it was a very strange night. Finally, when he’d finished his dinner and people were starting to empty out of the diner, Belle returned to say goodbye.

“You could come home with us, you know,” he offered. “We’d love to have you.”

Belle blushed prettily, but shook her head, “No, I’m needed here. I want to spend some time with Granny, and Ruby still needs her friends around. Dr Hopper agrees with me that I need to focus on my support network.”

Mulan appeared as if summoned, and looped her arm through Belle’s, “Yeah, this is a ‘hoes before bros’ situation, according to Ruby. No matter how generous you turn out to be.”

“What an interesting turn of phrase,” he muttered. “But the point is taken. I’ll… see you tomorrow, then?” he asked Belle, desperately wishing he could kiss her goodbye but feeling awkward in front of Bae and Mulan. The silence stretched, Belle fidgeting and Gold’s eyes darting from Bae, to Mulan, to Belle, and back again.

“Hey, Bae?” Mulan said at last, “You wanna go up and say hi to Granny?”

“Sure!” Bae chirped. “I’ll be back in a minute, papa!”

“Give her my regards,” Gold called after them, as Mulan lead Bae toward the stairs to the inn. Then his attention turned back to Belle. She had stepped closer, and he suddenly realised that with the last patrons just leaving, Ruby in the kitchen and Mulan and Bae upstairs, they were at last alone again.

“You know why I can’t come over, right?” she said, at last.

“Your friends?” he guessed. She shook her head.

“Well, yes,” she said. “That, but also… if I come over then we’ll have sex all night.”

“You say that like it’s a problem,” he noted, raising an eyebrow. “I take no issue with that plan.”

She snickered, and took his hand between both of hers, toying with his fingers. “I love you, Cam,” she said, and although she had said it many times that evening, he couldn’t help but feel warm every time. “I want to take things slow, this time, you know? Do it right. Get the reunion we should have had.”

He sighed, and nodded, knowing she was right however it pained him. “Alright,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

“I want _you_ ,” she said. “For good this time, forever. I’m just trying to do what’s best to make that happen. God, every night I’d see you through that glass and I just wanted to run down and kiss you. The time apart really did do me good, and Dr Hopper’s being so helpful, but it wasn’t easy sometimes.”

“I’m glad that on that, at least, we’re on the same page,” he muttered, unable to suppress a smile. She giggled.

“I could come for dinner tomorrow night?” she offered. “Ruby can spare me for one night, I’m sure.”

“I’d like that,” Gold said. “But you won’t… stay over?”

“Not yet,” she shook her head. “Not until we know what this is.”

He sighed, unable to fight the disappointment in his gut, but he knew it was the right decision. Giving Belle anything she wanted was the right decision, if he was honest with himself. He’d said he would wait for her, and he had meant it. “How about kissing?” he queried, solicitously, keeping the pleading out of his voice. If he couldn’t kiss her, he thought he’d go mad. “Is kissing allowed?”

“Encouraged,” she grinned, and kissed him as if to prove it, deeper and more passionate than before, a kiss full of promise. He held her head with the hand not braced on his cane, and angled her to deepen the kiss, stroking her tongue with his.

“Tomorrow,” she breathed, as they parted. Her forehead rested against his, and for a moment all he could see or hear or think about was her, her warm hand on the back of his neck and her soft, sweet breath on his cheek. He drank her in, the lights in her eyes, the warmth of her smile, and couldn’t believe his good fortune. After everything, after all the pain and the darkness and the heartbreak, she was finally, finally back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Belle has a word with Granny, and receives a letter from long ago.


	30. Blessings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter ran long to the tune of about 9,000 words? So enjoy a LOT of loose-thread-tying. Next chapter: 100% happy, romantic smut!

The first two weeks of December had been a struggle, keeping the diner running, maintaining the library, and visiting Granny every other day. The town had rallied behind them, at least – Sister Astrid agreed to help with the running of the library, Ashley’s stepsister stepped up to cover some of her shifts, and half the town had visited Granny in the hospital. It didn’t keep Belle from feeling in over her head much of the time: trying to run the business without Granny’s guidance, to keep the library functioning; trying to cope without her comfort and support.

Therapy helped, Ruby and Mulan helped, but still the days had been hard. No one had time to think about the holidays, and after the two hours they’d spent eating take-out with Granny on her hospital bed, Thanksgiving had been pizza and a movie. Running the diner, supporting each other and doing the emotional homework Dr Hopper encouraged had sapped Belle’s ability to think of much else.

The highlights of her days were Bae’s nightly visits with Emma and Mary Margaret for their dinner. For a couple of hours every evening, Belle could hear his laughter, help with his homework, and simply be in his presence, part of his life. It was always a welcome reminder of why she was working so hard, why it was so important to keep trying, to get better, and that there was light at the end of the long, dark tunnel.

The hardest point of her day always came directly after. Cam would come to collect him, and their eyes inevitably met through the glass. He was always so handsome in the warm glow of Granny’s outdoor lights, his hair tousled around his face, his suit and dark coat cutting such a sharp figure in the night. He never came inside, out of deference for her well-intentioned bid for distance, but when his warm, deep eyes met hers every night she knew he wanted nothing more than to reach for her through the glass.

It hurt not to let him, to leave him out there in the cold. But she had learned the hard way that some things had to be earned, and so she drew some strange comfort from the pang in her heart, the sharp tug toward him that always came, and the depth of how she missed him. Every night, she proved herself right: their love was strong enough to survive some time apart, and taking space truly hadn’t meant goodbye. She missed him as deeply now as she had that day in Florence, all those years ago, and every day spent apart from him was a day closer to their eventual reunion: another brick in their painstaking foundation; another step toward recovery.

She would smile, and wave, and he would smile back. And for right then, for now, it was enough to see him every day, and know he was well and that he was waiting for her as patiently as he had promised.

The day Granny returned home, everything changed.

Belle had known that Granny’s return to the Inn would disrupt their new routine, signalling as it did the end of their hospital visits and the return of Granny’s stabilising presence to the Inn. She had not expected it to be the day when Gold also returned to her life, although in retrospect it made perfect sense. The moment she’d seen his face, without the window in the way, the emotional hurricane she had been learning to navigate came crashing back around her.

Cam had lied to her, again. But he’d lied about doing such a wonderful thing, and the mix of anger and relief, love and fear, sent her reeling.

He made her feel deeper than anyone else she’d ever met. Once, when she’d already been feeling far too much and her life had been so unstable, that had been overwhelming, even terrifying. But for all she’d felt she had to call him out, to make it clear he couldn’t do this to her anymore, that they weren’t done talking about this, she couldn’t fight how wonderful and right it felt to be back in his arms. The time away gave her time to think, but equally it gave her time to realise how much she missed him, how little she could imagine a future without him.

She hadn’t realised how good it would feel to see him reaching out to her friends, either. She had been so worried for so long about combining those worlds, about the conflict that would ensue between two parties who had made their animosity so clear.

But Ruby hugged him; Mulan had grinned; even Ashley Boyd had found a smile for him.

Belle knew it was all for her sake, to make things easier for her. Given his ideal world the two of them would raise Bae in isolation in a castle somewhere, surrounded by his treasures, far from everyone else in the world. She hoped that would change, given time and patience, and he would learn to care for more than just his little family. But as it stood, Belle was well aware that he had paid Granny’s medical bills, let Ruby hug him, and even withstood Ashley’s presence, entirely for her sake.

She didn’t think she’d ever loved him more.

There was, however, another conversation she needed to have later that night. After everyone had gone home, and Mulan and Ruby had retired to what had become their room, Belle knocked on Granny’s door.

For a moment, silence reigned, and she worried the older woman might be asleep. Then, “Come in!” came the response, and she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked. Granny shrugged.

“Tired,” she replied. “And uncomfortable. I wonder if that boyfriend of yours would cover a new mattress as a medical expense?”

Belle blinked at her, stunned. She had expected to build up to the Gold issue, not jump in right there. “You didn’t tell me,” she accused, softly, as she took her seat in the armchair beside the bed. Granny’s hand covered hers. She didn’t know what else to say.

“How did you know?” Belle asked, after a long moment. Granny thought about it, as if weighing her words.

“I’ve known for a long time,” she said, eventually. “Since before you came home.” Belle nodded, the pieces falling into place without Granny having to say it. There was only one person who had known and would have told her, and she swallowed hard: another crime added to Moe French’s growing list. “Your Mr Gold came and confirmed it on Thanksgiving, when he informed me he would be paying for my care. And then, tonight, Mulan brought that sweet boy of his up to say hello, and caught me up to speed. I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“I love him,” Belle said, simply, loving how easy it was to say that now, how right the words felt. “And we’re finally in a place where that can mean something.”

“He’s an old fool,” Granny told her. “And he’s not who I’d have picked out for you, you know. He’s selfish and he’s got a temper on him, he’s too old for you, and you could do better.”

“But you’re here because of him,” Belle replied, softly. She liked that it didn’t feel like a betrayal anymore, to defend him. Archie had had her work on that, work through her loyalties: work out who really deserved them. Gold hadn’t, before. But it felt like he was trying hard to truly earn them now, and the attempt was everything.

“I am,” Granny agreed, with a sigh. “You’re a special one, Belle,” she continued. “He’s not so foolish he can’t see it. He can’t be blamed for seeing the light in you, for loving you for it.” She closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. “You know, I’ve never agreed with Cameron Gold on a single thing, not since the day that man moved to town and bought up every street he could get his hands on. But he was right, the day he came to me with this deal of his. He was right to fight for you, in every way he could. And he was right that you didn’t need to know about it right then.”

“I should have been the one to decide that,” Belle told her, firmly. “I’m not a child, I don’t need anyone’s protection.”

Granny gave a short laugh, warm and fond, “You sound like Ruby,” she said, “It’s childish to stomp your foot like that when someone’s doing it out of love, you know. There’s no one in this world who doesn’t need someone’s protection. You’re telling me you and Mulan didn’t protect one another all those years? That you weren’t protecting Ruby while I’ve been sick?”

“It should have been my choice,” Belle insisted. “And you know it.”

“If you’d have been in a fit state to make that choice, like you are now, then I’d agree with you. But your father died, and then whatever happened with Gold was happening, and then my heart gave out. What would have happened if I’d told you before, hmm? You would have either refused him, and suffered and scraped to look after my creaking old bones, or you’d have run back to him out of gratitude and dependence, and not taken half the time you need to heal and get back on your feet. I wasn’t going to let that happen, and to his credit, neither was he.”

“It still would have been my decision to make,” Belle replied, stubbornly, but she knew Granny was right. She couldn’t imagine how she might have reacted three weeks ago to that information, but she didn’t think it would have ended as well as tonight had.

“You’re as foolish as he is if you think that’ll ever stop me trying to protect you, especially when you were grieving and reeling and unable to see daylight, and a snake like Gold was wrapping himself around you.”

“He’s not a snake,” Belle disagreed. “He’s… he’s complicated, and difficult, but he’s a good man.”

“Good men can be capable of terrible things, and you know it,” Granny warned. “I’ll give my blessing, if that’s what you need, for your sake. All I want is for you to be happy, and if he’s what’ll make that happen, then I’ll even admit he’s got sides to him I didn’t see before. Maybe there’s even some good in him, and maybe you’re the one to let it out. But I’m never going to stop fighting for you, Belle. I’ll fight tougher monsters than Mr Gold to protect my kin. That’s what you do for family.”

Granny opened her arms, and Belle fell into them, holding her tight. She hugged her close for a long time, relieved beyond words to have Granny home, safe in her bed, capable of hugging and comforting and threatening people.

“It’s not me he should be worried about though, you know,” Granny mused, after a long second. “I would be merciful and just shoot the bastard if he hurts you again, but I move slower these days. Ruby and Mulan would do far worse in half the time. They love you too, you know. They’d have him castrated long before I could load my shotgun.”

Belle laughed at that: she couldn’t help it. With Granny’s blessing she felt a weight she hadn’t even known about lift from her shoulders, and she went to bed that night happier and freer than she’d felt in years.

As the nights drew ever darker, the snow became a permanent fixture. Every morning saw Leroy and his work crew covering the sidewalks and roads in salt grit. It finally started to feel like Christmas, and it warmed everything through, and made dark nights golden and bright. Belle had never minded the cold: she had always adored this time of year, and during her travels had tried to coordinate her Christmases to be in places where it was done properly.

She and Mulan took a whole Saturday to bedeck Granny’s in lights, wrapped in coats and protected by thick, heavy boots while perched precariously on ladders. Ruby elected to supervise in her stilettos, and provide hot cocoa-related support. It was for the best: of the three of them, Ruby had easily the worst balance.

Granny ambled out onto the porch, wrapped in a blanket over her clothes, her own cup of cocoa in her hands.

“Oh, Granny!” Ruby cried, rushing to her side in a moment. “You should get back inside, you’ll get cold!”

“I spent a month inside, girl,” Granny said, briskly. “Doctors said it’ll do me good to get up and about a bit.”

“It’s freezing out here,” Ruby objected. “You should stay warm.”

“Do the blanket and cocoa mean nothing?” Granny retorted. “I’m fine, Ruby. I’m not an invalid.”

“You had a heart attack!”

“And you’re never gonna let me forget it,” Granny retorted. Mulan laughed. “Don’t know what you’re sniggering about!” Granny called up to her. “I know the salads are your doing!”

“They’re actually your cardiologist’s doing,” Mulan replied. “And my mom’s. You should be glad your granddaughter’s dating someone from a food culture that understands how to prepare vegetables with actual flavour.” Granny didn’t dignify that with an actual response, although she did roll her eyes when Ruby blew Mulan a kiss.

Mulan turned back to Belle, “Hey, pass me that string there? I wanna wrap the red around the white.”

“Like a candy cane?” Belle asked, passing the string over.

“Exactly! See, this is teamwork,” Mulan grinned, and high-fived Belle. The impact made their ladders wobble, and both women yelped, bravery deserting them as they clung on to the awning to steady themselves.

“Don’t die!” Ruby called up, helpfully. Mulan replied with a one-finger salute, to which Ruby just winked.

“It’s gonna look great,” Belle said, when she was sure she wasn’t about to plummet to her death.

And it did look great, when the sun had set and the lights went up. Granny’s looked like a postcard, and Belle couldn’t keep the smile from her face. The lights had always been her favourite part of Christmas.

Belle’s boyfriend, however, had a somewhat different view of things.

“For the last time,” Gold sighed, with a patient glance over his wine glass. “We’re not decorating the outside of the house.”

“But the lights are the best part!” Belle protested, for the hundredth time. “Come on, it’s only a week until Christmas, it’d only be up until New Year. And there’s so much room on the outside, it’d look like a gingerbread house!”

“I wanna live in a gingerbread house!” Bae chimed in. Belle contained her giggles as Gold pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It wouldn’t be made of _actual_ gingerbread,” he explained, patiently. “It would just be a gaudy eyesore.”

“One of these days, I’ll take you to Strasbourg during Christmas, and then you’re going to understand,” she threatened. Gold rolled his eyes.

“Let me guess, there’s singing in the streets and twinkling lights everywhere, everyone’s inexplicably happy and the whole world is made of marzipan?”

Belle rose to her feet and collected the plates from dinner. “More or less,” she shrugged, as she carried them through to the kitchen. “Bae, you wanna help wash up?”

“Do I _have_ to?” Bae whined. Gold shrugged.

“Not if you agree that exterior decorative Christmas lights are unnecessary, tacky, and a drain on natural resources.”

“No bribing the child!” Belle scolded from the kitchen, poking her head around the doorframe to glare at him. Gold shrugged.

“He’s my child,” he countered, eyes gleaming. “I’ll bribe him if I wish.”

“And you thought _I_ was going to be a corruptive influence,” Belle muttered fondly, running a hand across his shoulders as she passed behind him to the head of the table.

He caught her hand, and pressed a kiss to the backs of her fingers, sending warmth racing through her. They’d been together a whole week, in public for all to see, and Belle found herself blissfully happy. Granny was on the mend, she saw Cam and Bae almost every day, and Ruby and Mulan had started to make a real home in the inn. After the tumult of the past six months, Belle was astonished and grateful to have finally found something resembling a safe harbour.

It was hard, still, sometimes. Dr Hopper made her talk often about her parents, and Belle was steadily unpicking feelings she’d been repressing for decades. Some days she came out of therapy feeling as if she’d been scooped out from the inside, but it was good, it was progress. It was easier to talk about things to Cam after she’d worked them through with Archie first, and she felt like they were able to talk better now then they ever had before.

And the more they talked, the more certain she was in her renewed trust in him, her love for him, and his in return. As she opened up more about her parents, he told her more about his ex-wife, his wastrel father and his childhood in poverty. The more she knew, the easier it was to understand his fears, his propensity to lash out and shut himself off, and the more astonished she was at how hard he was trying to change all of that for her. Forgiving him was easier every day; loving him felt more like forever with every passing moment. He was even open to the idea of finding his own therapist, having seen how beneficial it was for Belle, and that in itself – knowing how much the idea scared him, and yet seeing he was willing to try – was a sign of how committed he was to making things work.

How much easier would life have been, she wondered, if they’d only been capable of talking like this five years ago? How much pain might have been spared, if she’d only known then what she knew now, if they’d felt comfortable sharing the difficult, darker parts of themselves as well as the light?

However they’d reached this place, Belle was grateful to her bones that they were here now.

“You _are_ a corruptive influence,” Gold grinned, squeezing her hand. “I haven’t destroyed anyone in over a fortnight. My whole reputation is up in flames.”

“That’s what you call a _good_ influence,” Belle corrected him. “I’m sweetness and light, you know.”

“Yes, you are,” he agreed, his tone going from teasing to adoring in a moment, and Belle felt her knees shake at the intensity of the love and warmth in his gaze.

“If you’re gonna be mushy can I go watch cartoons?” Bae complained. Belle turned to him, thankful for the excuse to look away from Gold’s melting gaze.

“No, you have to help me wash up first, remember?” she said. Bae shook his head.

“Papa said I didn’t have to if I agreed about the lights.”

“See what I mean?” Belle demanded of Gold. “You’re corrupting him.”

“Bartering is a valuable life lesson,” Gold returned. Despite his argumentative tone, there was a warm, teasing gleam in his eyes that made Belle tremble. Her hand tingled where his lips had touched it, and not for the first time Belle regretted her own decision to take things slow. She’d promised herself she’d wait a month from their reconciliation, until well after the holidays. She figured by then they could be sure that this could last, and that they’d be on firmer emotional footing. The slower they took things, the less likely one of them would panic and ruin everything.

It was still difficult in these moments not to imagine sending Bae to watch his cartoons, and letting Cam take her here and now against the dining room table.

The silence held between them a little too long, and her lips parted a little as she remembered to breathe. His smile slipped, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. He was so beautiful, his hair soft and a little mussed in the warm lamplight, his eyes huge and dark, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. Her fingers itched to touch him, run her hands through the threads of silver at his temples, unbutton his shirt and…

“See?” Bae complained, snapping her out of her thoughts, “ _Mushy_!”

“Go watch cartoons,” Belle said, her eyes wrenched from Gold’s once again to fix on Bae. Bae gave a cry of victory and slipped off his chair, running through to the living room before this providence could be withdrawn. Belle let out a shaky breath, and ran a hand through her hair, trying to steady herself. A month. She’d promised herself they’d date for a month before making love: lay a foundation before moving forward. They talked so much better with their clothes on, and their relationship deserved a chance to grow organically. It was hard to remember at times.

“I love you,” Gold said, his soft voice breaking the comfortable silence. She smiled at him.

“I love you too,” she said. “I…” she trailed off, her eyes catching on a white envelope on the tabletop. It bore her name, and her address at Granny’s, and yet here it was, in Gold’s dining room. “Cam, what is this?” she asked, picking it up and examining it.

Cold dread settled in the pit of her belly, smothering the heat that had been there a moment earlier. Her heart pounded, ready to shatter again, ready to turn and snarl and hate him for his dishonesty. Had she caught him in yet another lie? Even after all this time, this time spent growing and trying to be better to one another, had he resorted to stealing her mail and hiding it?

“Ah, yes,” he said immediately, as if just recalling its existence. “That’s a little piece of passive-aggression Regina handed me today. I gather she’s rather annoyed that our antagonism resolved itself so happily, rather than in one or both of us quitting the town in disgrace.”

“It’s addressed to me,” she pointed out. He shrugged.

“She said it’d clearly reach you faster in my hands than the postal service’s, and I saw no reason not to pass it along. Somewhere between then and now I must have forgotten. As you may recall dinner was already well under way by the time you arrived and… well, with you in that little red dress, I think I may have gotten a little distracted from the minutiae of Regina’s petty grievances.”

He smiled at her, guilelessly, his fingers tugging at the hem of her dress. She remembered the look on his face when she had removed the coat that matched it, the same look he’d worn just then: like he wanted to rip it off of her right there in the hallway. And he had already been cooking, with Bae helping stir. There hadn’t been any serious talk between then and now.

“Alright,” Belle nodded, mollified and a little ashamed of her distrust. She was working on that, but after everything he’d done it was still a struggle. She was getting better, though, and so was he: when she checked the postage date on the top of the letter, it was today’s date. He was telling the truth.

She was even more ashamed of the relief she felt at having his explanation corroborated, but knew he would expect that. His hand on her forearm and the sincere smile he shot her indicated he had no hard feelings for her momentary distrust.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s about the house,” Belle replied, scanning the lines of text quickly. “It’s… oh, _shit_.”

“What?” his voice was sharp, coloured with concern. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m being fined,” she said, faintly. “The City of Storybrooke is fining me a thousand dollars for Game of Thorns’ code violations.” She sat down hard, her head spinning with panic. “I don’t have a thousand dollars,” she muttered, under her breath. “And if I did it’d go to the diner. I don’t… I don’t _have_ a thousand dollars.”

“I’ll pay it,” Gold said, without a second thought. She shook her head.

“No,” she said. “No I already let you pay for Granny’s care, you’re not paying for this as well. I just… I’ll have to sell the shop to Regina. They can take the fine out of the proceeds.”

“Regina isn’t offering a third of what the place is worth!” Gold protested. She shot him a glare.

“She’s the only offer on the table,” she reminded him. “Since you finally withdrew yours. And before you offer, no, I still won’t sell it to you. It’s just sitting there,” her eyes watered, and her throat felt tight and clogged. “It’s not like I’d miss it…”

It was a lie, and an unconvincing one at that. The thought of some stranger coming into her home, chopping down her mother’s tree and destroying the roses, barring her access forever after to the one place her parents still lived… it was unthinkable. She was only just coming to terms with the complicated relationship she had to that place, and to the ghosts that lived within it, and she knew now that she wasn’t ready to let go. And yet what choice did she have? She couldn’t let Gold swallow the cost of the fine, and this was just the first of many.

“I have to sell,” she said again. “I can’t maintain it on the library’s salary, and I can’t let you pour money into a sinkhole. Regina can… make something of it. Someone can live there again.”

“It’s all you have left of your family,” Gold reminded her, as if she needed it saying. His hand covered hers on the table and squeezed it hard, and Belle thanked God in that moment that things had worked out as they had, and he was here with her. There was no one else in the world that she wanted to hold her hand right now, standing on the edge of losing her home. “Think hard before you give that up.”

“Regina’s just doing her job,” Belle said. “She gave me the librarian position-“

“She did so because she knew about our history,” Gold interrupted. “She hoped your continued presence would rile me up and give her the upper hand for a while.”

“I know, I know,” Belle nodded, shaking her head as she read the awful letter a fourth time. “I… how _did_ she know? I think papa told Granny, she already knew, but Regina?”

“He told them both. Soon after I sold him the shop, your late father apparently wished to file charges about the way I had gone about it,” Gold explained, his voice heavy with regret. It was hard for him, even now, to be honest with her about the darkness in his past, but she appreciated the attempt. He was trying. Their history was chequered and not always bright and easy, but she had always said she wanted the hard truth over a kind lie. “Regina talked him down from it, apparently, but not before she’d gotten the whole story out. Even then, it took Granny’s censure to shame him into silence.”

“Was it… because of the gun?” she asked, swallowing hard. Gold nodded, that old guilt creasing his face.

“Yes. Belle, I’m so sorry. I know it was a terrible thing to do-“

“It’s okay,” she shook her head, her lip caught between her teeth and eyes fixed on the formal letter in her hands. “You don’t have to apologise again. Considering what happened after, I… can I say something awful?”

“Nothing you say to me could be awful, Belle,” Gold assured her. He took her hand and squeezed it, and she offered him a weak smile.

“The fact it took a gun pulled on him to accept the money almost makes me feel better,” she admitted, quietly. It was a revelation she’d only come to recently, when Archie had made her recap the whole incident and discuss it in detail. The more she had talked about it, the more her anger had shifted from Gold and onto Moe, which somehow only hurt more. She didn’t want to hate her father, not now he was gone and it would never be resolved. Hating Gold had been easier, cleaner somehow. Robbed of that, her feelings were exposed to the air like a gaping wound, far harder to ignore. “I know he wasn’t going to let me leave, not without a fight, but I was ready for that. He… I _have_ to believe he wouldn’t have thrown me out but for the money involved, and that he only accepted at gunpoint.”

“What are you saying?” Gold asked, confused. Belle shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just… I can’t breathe when I think that my father hated me so much that he jumped at the chance to cast me out, you know? I need to believe that it took everything you did to make that happen. Then it’s you I have to forgive, and that’s a lot easier because you’re still here, and you’re trying so hard.”

Gold winced, but he didn’t let go of her hand. Their past together was hard to discuss even now, considering the pain they’d caused one another. But Belle had had more than enough of pushing things to one side just because they hurt to talk about. She knew Gold felt the same.

“Whatever else he did,” Gold said, carefully, “And I’m not excusing him for a moment, but whatever else… he did love you.”

“Not enough to fight for it, though,” Belle muttered, hating the bitterness in her own voice. “Not enough to side with me.” Belle sighed, and set down the letter. She rubbed her face with her hands. “What does it say about me that I’m holding on so hard to the memory of someone who would do that to me?”

“It says that people don’t always fit neatly into ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’,” Gold said. “Your father raised you, as much as he could. He taught you to ride a bike, he was there for you on your first day of school… and all of that makes the later betrayals so much harder to bear. But there’s nothing wrong with wanting to hold onto the good, in spite of the bad. At least you have some good to remember of your father.”

“I know,” Belle nodded, swallowing hard and remembering what Cam had told her recently about his own father. At least Moe had never told her he wished she’d never been born, which was more than could be said for Malcolm Gold. She covered her face in her hands, and sighed. “I never thought he’d be capable of what he did,” she admitted. “I was scared to tell him, but I never thought…”

Gold’s arm came around her shoulders, and she let herself be pulled into his embrace. “I’m so sorry, Belle,” he murmured, stroking her arm gently. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll go and talk to Regina tomorrow,” she decided, her voice muffled in his shoulder. “I’ll see if we can work out some sort of deal.”

“There is another option, you know,” Gold said. Belle looked up.

“What?”

“Well, you don’t have to sell it if it becomes profitable. If Regina’s plan is to turn it into a bookshop, then why not cut out the middle man and do so yourself?”

For a moment, Belle considered it. It was a spectacular idea; it glowed in her mind as the future opened up before her. The shop restored, overflowing with books where before the flowers had grown. Filling the empty spaces with roses and daisies from the garden, perhaps setting up a little reading area or teashop in the back. Sunlight spilling through the windows as it had through her childhood, the whole place smelling of books and wonder.

It was a beautiful dream. It was also impossible, and it seemed cruel to even consider it when it was so far out of reach. She snorted through her nose, and slumped back in her chair. “Cam, if I don’t have a thousand dollars for the fine, how am I going to afford to start a business?”

“Through investors,” Gold replied. “The same way most small business owners do.”

“And we’re back to me using your money,” she said. “No.”

“Investing is different than paying your debts,” Gold pointed out. “I’ve shares in almost every business in Storybrooke, in one way or another, and as an investor I’d be owed dividends, your profits are my profits. You could invite Regina to invest as well: she’ll do anything to undercut my power in this town.”

“You’re not being comforting here,” she said. “I don’t want to be a pawn in whatever power struggle the two of you have going, not again. If I sell I can keep splitting my time between being librarian and helping at Granny’s. I have an income, stability… a bookshop could crash and burn.”

“As the town librarian you’re under Regina’s thumb no matter what,” he argued back. “And while we both know you’re eminently qualified for the position, do you trust Regina not to use you as just such a pawn against me?”

“You think I’d have any more independence with her as an investor?” Belle asked, dubiously. He shrugged.

“If you happened to have some legal help drafting the agreement,” he said. His smile turned wolfish, “I do happen to be very good with contracts.”

“I can’t deny that,” she muttered. He winked, and she couldn’t keep from smiling. The thought was ridiculous, risky, impossible… and irresistible. She had spent most of her life hooked on one dream that had appeared just so, and had made it come true. With Cam’s help, why couldn’t this be the same? He wouldn’t have suggested it, suggested pouring his money into it, if he didn’t believe in it.

“Sleep on it,” he suggested. “And talk to Regina tomorrow. If she refuses you’ve lost nothing, after all.”

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll consider it.”

“Good,” he smiled, and rose to his feet. “Now, I believe it’s past Bae’s bedtime, so I need to be enforcing that.”

“Then I should be getting home,” Belle agreed, an apology in her eyes. It was getting harder and harder to leave at the end of the evening, when she knew that he was just waiting for her to stay. It was right, it was better this way, and she knew that. But his bed was so much softer than hers, and it contained the man she loved with all her heart.

She said her goodbyes to Bae, who gave her a big hug before being ushered to bed by his father. The blessing of seeing Bae every day, of receiving his hugs and his smiles so freely and easily, was a joy she would never tire of. She had slipped into the role of stepmother without even realising it, and Gold had yet to pull her up on it. She didn’t expect him to. From the warm, doting, adoring look in his eyes every time he watched her with Bae, she knew he had no issue at all any more with her being close to his son.

Gold enveloped her in his arms at the door, holding her close for a long minute. He buried his face in her throat, breathing her in, and for a moment their hearts beat in time and she felt warmer and safer than she ever had. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay here forever, held tight in his arms, happy and at peace with the world.

She meant to pull back, to leave, but when she moved back her face was suddenly inches from his and she was kissing him instead, pouring all the love she felt for him into that kiss. It was different now, she thought hazily as he cupped her jaw and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth, his taste flooding her senses. It was different than it had been before she left town, when they’d been blindly happy and rushing for the edge. She knew him now. She knew his darkness, knew his extremes; she knew his fears and his demons. She knew what it took for him to trust her again, to let her in and let her close, and felt an answering fierce dedication to live up to that honour. It was a deeper, stronger love that grew from that sort of adversity.

When they finally parted for air Belle was breathing a little faster, her heart racing in her chest. “Goodnight,” she managed, before she lost her resolve. He just nodded, his eyes glazed with longing and hair mussed from her hands. She left before she could change her mind.

The next day, instead of going back to the diner on her lunch break, Belle went to City Hall.

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked, a little snottily in Belle’s opinion.

“No, but Mayor Mills will want to see me,” she said. “It’s about a fine on my property.”

“You need an appointment,” the woman drawled. “Sorry.”

“Okay,” Belle smiled, sweetly. “Then I’ll come back here with Mr Gold, and see if Mayor Mills can fit me in then.”

The receptionist sat up a little straighter at that, and Belle was a little ashamed at the little rush she got at name-dropping like that. She had never liked or enjoyed the reputation – well earned though it was – that Cam had around town. She was grateful beyond words to him for taking steps to change it these days. But if it got her in to see Regina…

The receptionist called through to the office while Belle took a seat, and Belle was unsurprised when she looked up and reported, “She has a free minute now, if you want to go through.”

“Thank you so much!” Belle chirped, and went through into Regina’s office.

“Good afternoon, Miss French,” Regina looked up from a pile of paperwork. “I take it you’re here to discuss the fine on your property?”

“I need to discuss the property’s future,” Belle said, sitting down in the chair Regina indicated with her hands folded primly in her lap. “It can’t continue like this.”

“No, that is rather the point of the fine,” Regina smiled, tightly. “Are you here bearing Mr Gold’s chequebook?”

Belle winced, “I would appreciate if you refrained from pointed comments about my personal life,” she said. “If at all possible.”

“Of course,” Regina smiled. “I only wish to know with whom I’m dealing here. You did threaten my receptionist with his name, after all.”

“It was a matter of urgency,” Belle explained. “Since it concerns my home and my future employment, both of which concern you.”

“I apologise for my bluntness Miss French,” Regina replied, “But I honestly don’t see that we have anything to discuss. I know you haven’t the money to pay the fine levied against you, and you’ve made no move to inhabit or renovate the place since your return to town. I have been lenient until now with due regard to your personal circumstances and the work you’ve put into keeping up with the most urgent of the owed payments, but the time has come to resolve the situation.”

“You want me to sell it,” Belle surmised. “To you, as fast as possible.”

“Unless you plan to allow Gold to purchase the place, I see no other outcome,” Regina said. “And as you have yet to do so despite your personal connection, I assume you have ruled out that option.”

“I won’t sell to him,” Belle confirmed. “And he’s withdrawn the offer.”

“Then you’re here to discuss a sale?” Regina asked. Belle pressed her lips into a thin line.

“You have to understand, Madame Mayor, that it’s my family home. All I have left of my father is in that house, all the memories, everything he was. I don’t want to part with it. But I also understand it can’t just be left to fester like it has. You have to understand that, right?”

“I’m not… unsympathetic,” Regina conceded. An odd look had passed her face, softening the hard planes and replacing her usual smug severity with an aching, lingering sadness. It transformed her, and Belle didn’t know how to take the sudden change. She was left with the uncomfortable sense that Cam might not be the only person in Storybrooke who covered a soft heart with a hard face.

“You’ve been good to me,” Belle said. “Whatever your reasons, you gave me a job when no one else could, a job I love. You’ve been very understanding about the shop until now, and I know you didn’t have to be. I don’t want to make things harder than they need to be.”

“I’m sure Gold has said all sorts of things about me,” Regina settled back in her chair. “I can’t imagine the impression that twisted little imp has given you.”

“I don’t care about whatever power play is going on between you and him,” Belle said, bluntly. “What I care about is my home. I have a proposal, a compromise, if you’re willing to hear it?”

“What did you have in mind?”

Belle took a deep breath, and laid out the plan Gold had set out the night before, adding in the more concrete details she’d worked out with Granny when she’d gotten home and talked it through. The more she’d spoken about it, the more feasible it sounded, so long as she could get the Mayor on board.

“Mrs Lucas has offered to invest a little as well,” Belle rushed to add, and she saw Regina’s eyebrows rise, impressed at the backing of a town institution. “We’re considering setting up a small café in the back garden, an off-shoot of Granny’s that we could run on the weekends.”

“Gold has agreed to finance the bulk of the venture?” Regina asked. “Despite small businesses being incredibly risky?”

“I have what’s left of my father’s inheritance,” Belle argued. “But yes, Mr Gold has volunteered his investment.”

“You’re costing him a great deal these days, Miss French,” Regina noted. “Between Mrs Lucas’ medical bills and financing your new business, it seems you stand to gain a great deal from Gold’s… favour.”

“It’s not like that,” Belle snapped. “This was his idea, in fact.”

“I’m quite aware of what it’s _like_ , Miss French,” Regina retorted. “Your own father made me quite aware of your history with Mr Gold. I have to say I’m rather surprised at your willingness to take back up with him, all things considered. If the rumour mill is to be believed, that is.”

“I know he came to you,” Belle told her, sharply. “But I’d like to hear from you what happened next, if you don’t mind.”

“It was fairly simple,” Regina gave an unpleasant smile. “He told me how your boyfriend forced him into a contract of sale at gunpoint, a rather… unconventional mugging, but still illegal. I convinced him to drop the charges and keep his mouth shut. You’re welcome, by the way.” Regina’s eyes gleamed with malice, and Belle had the strangest feeling that she’d seen that look before. It was exactly the same look Cam wore when he was feeling someone else, seeking weaknesses and chinks in the armour.

“I know about that,” Belle said, trying to sound casual. “I know all about what happened that night. I’m not sure what relevance it has to my restoring my father’s shop.”

“Secrets always come out, Miss French,” Regina shrugged, hiding her surprise at this revelation behind cool indifference. “I am surprised at his honesty, but the point stands that if Gold is to be both your lover and your business partner, such things must be out in the open. I’m hardly going to gamble public funds on your volatile love life.”

“On a small business that would service the local community,” Belle corrected, trying not to let her anger at Regina’s high-handed tone show through. Her voice heated nonetheless, as she realised that Gold had been right all along about Regina and her motivations. “And if I may ask, why in God’s name did you manipulate him into dropping the charges? Aside from it being illegal, if my family’s role in this town is only to be pawns in your chess game, why not topple the King?”

“A contract can be set aside if it was signed under duress,” Regina explained. “And for my interests – and yours, I would add – to be best served, that contract of sale needed to stand. Your father understood that, when put to him that way.”

“Whatever fine Cam would have paid for his crime wouldn’t have come close to the loss of control over the shop,” Belle nodded. “Which strengthened your position.”

“Exactly,” Regina smiled without remorse, and Belle resolved then and there to never let her bookshop become a battlefield between her lover and the Mayor. “I suppose that you intend to quit your post at the library in order to run the place, too,” said Regina. “We lose a public service and gain a business.”

“I don’t intend to let the library close,” Belle retorted. “I’ll find someone to run it. Sister Astrid is already helping a great deal, and I know the Mother Superior is keen on the place.” She took a deep breath, and released it slowly. “Listen,” she said, trying to recall the spiel she’d been practicing in the mirror that morning. “You told me you intended to buy the shop to lease it back to an owner, and set up a bookshop. I’m no less qualified than anyone else you could find to do that, and by investing along with others it’s less cost to the city than buying it would be. You helped Ingrid Fisher set up Any Given Sundae. You’ve done this before, so why not now?”

“I have no doubt about your qualifications,” Regina said. “What troubles me is your choice of business partner.”

“Granny trusts him enough to invest,” Belle pointed out. “And despite your personal vendetta, Mr Gold is a pillar of the business community. This was his idea. Can you name a single venture of his that has failed?”

“This is different,” she said. “He’s never mixed business and… pleasure before.”

“I’m getting everything in writing, and looked over by an independent lawyer in Portland,” Belle said, stiffly. “You keep pointing out our history together, and my qualifications, and yet somehow you still seem to believe I’m stupid enough not to have seen the potential dangers a mile off. If we were to break up, the money would not dry up; the business would not fail. I also hope to turn a profit and buy out his investment as soon as possible, and own my shop outright in the end. This is just start-up money.”

Regina paused for a long moment, considering. The seconds ticked by, and Belle took a deep breath, trying not to panic. “Very well, Miss French,” Regina continued, at last. “Present the idea to the next city council meeting, and we’ll see where we go from there.”

“But you’re open to it?” Belle checked. It went without saying that the city council was a puppet institution, and almost always bowed to Regina’s will. She was the one Belle needed on board.

“There is already a plan in motion to renovate your property into a profitable business,” Regina said. “I am open to any plan that achieves that goal, so long as the fine is also paid on time.”

“Thank you,” Belle breathed, a rush of relief and gratitude overcoming her. “Thank you so much.” Belle beamed, giddy and elated as she rose to her feet. She shook Regina’s hand, and watched as her callous smugness shifted into something else, something sadder and more personal.

“I… I lost my father, too,” Regina volunteered, and Belle swallowed, understanding dawning. “I don’t know what I would do if someone tried to take his grave from me. And I’m not so cold and heartless as Gold would have you believe.”

“Neither is he,” Belle muttered, and was surprised to draw a small smile from Regina.

“I’m aware of that, as a matter of fact. But this is how the game is played. Find someone to run the library, and present a workable plan, and we’ll see what we can do,” Regina said. Belle turned and started for the door, but was stopped by Regina’s call. “Belle?”

Belle turned, surprised at the informality. “Yes?”

“I almost forgot,” Regina reached into her desk drawer and rummaged for a second, finally retrieving an envelope, stained and a little crumpled. “When the city investigated the property a few days ago, we found this behind one of the cabinets. We must have missed it when we collected your father’s things.”

“What is it?” Belle asked, suddenly breathless.

“It’s addressed to you,” Regina said. “So it would be illegal for me to open it.” She held it out in one immaculately manicured hand. Belle stumbled forward on shaking legs to take it. Her chest ached at the familiar messy scrawl of her father’s handwriting on the front, followed by Will’s mother’s address, the only forwarding address she’d left when she left town.

“Thank you,” she murmured, knocked senseless by the promise of what lay inside. She was holding a letter from her father, the last communication he ever tried to make to her. A letter he never sent. She had no idea what she would find inside, and the fear and wild, unbelievable hope made her dizzy. “I… thank you.”

Belle staggered from the office without another word, passing the receptionist on the way out without really seeing her. Her world had narrowed to the letter in her hands.

She somehow found her way back to the diner. She couldn’t think of returning to the library yet, of opening this alone. She thought she would vomit or faint.

“Hey, Belle!” Ruby greeted her as she came through the door. Belle didn’t look up. She slumped into her favourite booth by the window. “Belle?”

Ruby came to her side, and Belle blinked hard. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she hadn’t even noticed until now. “Belle, honey, what happened? Was it Gold? I’ll murder him, I’ll-“

“No… no,” Belle shook her head. “I went to the Mayor about the shop,” she said, her tongue heavy and numb in her mouth. “She said they found this in my dad’s house. It’s… it’s addressed to me.”

“Oh my God,” Ruby wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close.

“Oh, hey Belle,” Belle heard Mulan come out from the back, and then stop dead when she saw Belle crumpled with Ruby wrapped around her. “Granny?” she called. “I think something happened to Belle.”

Mulan and Granny came to sit near Belle as Ruby explained what had happened. Belle couldn’t stop staring at the envelope, her fingers tracing the words. She couldn’t bring herself to open it. What if all she found was vitriol, or a defence of his actions? What if the tentative peace she had found at last was shattered by these new last words?

“You don’t have to open it,” Ruby told her. “You don’t. You don’t owe him or anyone else anything.”

Belle swallowed hard, and nodded. Ruby squeezed her shoulder.

“When my mom was dying, she called and left me a voicemail,” Ruby told her. “By the time I found it she was gone. It took me three months to listen to it.”

Belle nodded again, and leaned into Ruby’s side for comfort. “I know,” she said, hoarsely. “I just… I need to know what he said. What was so terrible that he couldn’t bring himself to send it?”

“We’re here no matter what,” Mulan promised. “You know that.”

“Your dad loved you, you know,” Granny added. “You do know that, no matter what that letter says. He loved you.”

“And _we_ love you,” Ruby added, fiercely. “You’re so very much loved, Belle. Nothing in that envelope matters more than that.”

“Okay,” Belle tried to agree, tried to feel it in her bones. All she felt was fear, and grief, and a longing for the support and safety of a man who had died long before Moe French’s heart had given out.

In a quick burst of activity, like ripping off a Band-Aid, Belle tore open the letter with her fingernail, and pulled out the letter itself.

_My dearest Belle,_

_I don’t know what to write to you. I’ve never been good with expressing myself. I always left that to your mama. But now she’s gone and you’re somewhere else – Europe, I think, right now – and I don’t even have your phone number. I don’t know what I’d say if you answered. Figured I’m an old man, and old men write._

_I’m sorry for everything I said to you, my girl. I’m sorry for shouting. I’m sorry for throwing you out. I was so angry. I acted like an idiot. That Mr Gold of yours came by and he offered me the shop in exchange for you, and like the fucking fool that I am I let him bully me into it. But I didn’t write to you to justify the terrible things I did. And I know if you said whatever you felt was real, then it was. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I know that now. I knew it then. I was just so angry, I forgot to see my sweet little girl behind the woman you’ve become._

_That woman’s amazing though, Belle. I’m so proud of you right now, even if I wish you’d stayed so I could tell you to your face. You’re as smart and kind and brave as your mama, and twice as beautiful. Your heart is so good. You’re going to set the world on fire. I’m sat here feeling jealous of all the places you’re going and people you’re going to meet, because they’re going to have a part of you that I was stupid enough to reject._

_I love you, sweetheart. Please be safe out there, and come home to your stupid old man when your feet touch the ground. I hope the world is as good as you and Colette always dreamed it would be._

_All my love,_

_Papa_

She read the letter as fast as she could, and every line made her eyes water, made her ache and soar and shake. She read it again, and again, and again, the words coming louder and more familiar with every repeat.

And then, when she was convinced she had the whole thing committed to memory, her father’s voice as real and clear as day in her head, she buried her head in her arms and sobbed her heart out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Belle and Gold reach the one month mark, and take the next step in their relationship ;)


	31. Reprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, as a reward for anyone who suffered through this mess, a whole chapter of happy smut!

_Three weeks later_

Belle was going to arrive any minute.

Gold tried not to fuss too much, but it was difficult when he’d put time and care and preparation into tonight. It was their one-month anniversary since they’d truly reunited, and restarted their relationship. One month of family dinners at the diner or his home, of movie nights with Bae, of walks around town and holding hands and relearning one another.

She’d come with him to Bae’s school’s Christmas Eve play, and Bae had proudly given them a tour of the sets he’d so lovingly painted. When he came on as part of the chorus, dressed as the sweetest Christmas star Gold had ever seen, Belle had applauded, waving and beaming like a lunatic until Bae saw her. Bae’s face had lit up the whole stage, and he’d held her hand all the way home, refusing to let go even when she was trying to place the huge pile of gifts she’d brought for them under the tree.

There were several under there for her, a fact he knew didn’t slip her attention when she looked over her shoulder and beamed at him.

Christmas Day she had spent with Granny, Ruby and Mulan, as Granny had insisted on helping Ruby in the kitchen. She’d still found time to slip out later in the day, and spend a couple of hours watching _It’s A Wonderful Life_ as they opened their gifts. Gold couldn’t understand where she’d found the time to buy and wrap so many presents for the pair of them, but he was sure Bae would be thoroughly spoilt by next year. He thought he might be, too, if Belle kept hugging and kissing him the way she did every time she opened another box.

Afterward they had sat on the sofa, and gorged themselves sick on the huge tin of Christmas cookies, cakes, and candies Granny had sent over with her. Bae had fallen asleep watching _The Muppet Christmas Carol_ , and the pair of them had spent a glorious hour making out like teenagers on the sofa. Gold didn’t think he’d ever had a better holiday.

New Year’s Eve was spent with half the town at Granny’s, with Archie Hopper’s huge projector screen showing the Time Square countdown. The Nolans hired a sitter to look after Bae and Emma, and Gold was actually happy for them, so pleased were they to have a night out. It was hard not to be happy, that night. For the first time in half a decade – drunk on prosecco and Belle’s embrace – Gold had someone he loved, someone he hoped would be there for every year hence, to kiss at midnight.

The high of the holidays gave way to the cold, bitter dark of January. Gold barely felt the shift: these days, everything in his world felt warmer and brighter than ever before.

And now, they had managed a whole month without fights or miscommunications, in which she spoke and he listened, and vice versa. They bickered, they disagreed; they had talked about things until their hearts ached and they were both exhausted, but they always ended up in a forgiving embrace.

He wanted to find a way to thank her for that, for this second chance at happily ever after. Unfortunately for his reputation, he knew his happiness, their newfound intimacy, was no longer the secret it once had been. When he’d called Mary Margaret and asked whether Bae could stay the night, he had heard her knowing look without having to see it.

“Are you planning to spend the night alone, Mr Gold?” she had asked, all innocence. “We’re always happy to see Bae if you have work to catch up on.”

“Not exactly, no,” he had hedged. It was pointless: the woman had been present when he and Belle had gotten back together, after all. She’d seen everything.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “You wanna lie to a pregnant lady?”

“Pregnancy doesn’t entitle one to snoop on others’ private business,” he retorted. He was appalled when she laughed. Truly, since Belle’s return – and especially since their reconciliation – his fearsome reputation had taken something of a knock. He supposed

“Well either way, say hi to Belle for us,” Mary Margaret chortled. “Oh, and could you tell her we’d love for her to babysit next week? She offered a few days back since it’s David’s birthday, and I haven’t had the chance to talk to her since.”

“Would you like to just come along and chaperone?” he asked, testily. “Perhaps take notes to share with the town?”

“Mr Gold, are you inviting us on a double date?” Mary Margaret’s tone was teasing, and Gold couldn’t quite believe what was happening. He had the strong sense he was being laughed at, and while part of him wanted to lash out, hide the weakness that allowed such liberties, a larger part was aware of the fondness in her voice.

“Certainly not,” he muttered. “Then who would babysit?”

Mary Margaret snorted, “Good point. I suppose we could triple-date, if Bae and Emma wanted to come along.”

There was a pause, as the pair of them registered what she’d just said. Gold would be lying if he claimed he hadn’t wondered if perhaps, someday, his son’s closest friendship might become something deeper. But that day was undoubtedly a long way off, if it ever came, and he remembered then young Emma’s reaction to his and Belle’s embrace at the diner.

“I believe I’ll defer to your daughter’s position on such things,” Gold returned. “The word ‘ew’ was used.”

“Well, have a nice night, Cameron,” Gold could hear Mary Margaret’s smile in her voice, and Gold’s worst fears were confirmed. She thought of him as a friend, now, the final bastion of formality broken, and he couldn’t reinforce the barriers without going back on his silent promise to Bae and to Belle to try harder with the people they cared about. He couldn’t tell if he even wanted to.

“You as well… Mary Margaret,” he replied, swallowing hard. The last person in town he ever expected to have unintentionally befriended was Mary Margaret Nolan, but apparently Hell had frozen over as firmly as Storybrooke this winter, and all things were possible. He had to admit he had underestimated the pair of them, shamefully, for all the years they’d known one another. He had even been surprised to discover they had a decent sense of humour, when they felt comfortable enough to express it. Conventional and sickly-sweet they may be, but there was an undeniable strength and courage involved in being so unrelentingly kind and generous of spirit, even in the face of such a bleak and awful world.

“I’ll get Bae to call and check in when they’re going to bed,” Mary Margaret promised. “Unless you don’t want to be disturbed.” Her voice was laden with innuendo, and Gold sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No, no, that should be fine,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Oh, before you go,” she added, forestalling his hanging up. “David just needs your signature on some final documents for the extension. Could you spare a few minutes to finalise things when you collect Bae tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll be by around noon.”

“We’ll see you then, then,” Mary Margaret said.

“Goodbye,” he said, and hung up before she could rattle him any further.

Five hours later, Gold found himself pacing his kitchen, cane unspeakably loud against the tiled floor.

Belle would be here any moment.

He felt inexplicably nervous about that fact, despite how often she’d been for dinner at his home before. But then, aside from that one terrible day after Granny’s heart attack, Bae had always been with them. Through every dinner, every movie night, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, it had always been the three of them. Tonight, however, Bae was settled elsewhere, there were roses on the dining room tables and candles – bloody _candles_! – littering every spare inch of the countertops and the centrepiece, and he was preparing her favourite meal for dinner.

Gold concentrated his whole being on chopping onions, and not on waiting for the doorbell to ring. He still all but jumped out of his skin when it did.

“Hey,” he managed, when he met her on the doorstep. He was proud enough of managing that syllable. She was so beautiful, so impossible, that the sight of her knocked him senseless.

“Hey,” she replied, when he didn’t say anything else. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yes of course,” he moved aside quickly, and closed the door behind her.

“I, ah, I didn’t know if I should bring anything,” she said, he felt more in order to say something than because it mattered. “I didn’t know what you had planned for dinner.”

“It’s okay,” he replied. “Don’t worry about a thing, here, let me take your coat.” His hands shook a little as she turned and let him slip her pale pink coat from her shoulders. She shivered when his fingers brushed down her arms, and he swallowed hard. She looked back at him over her shoulder, her lip caught between her teeth and her eyes soft and dazed, and for a moment her eyes met his and neither of them moved.

She was stunning. There was no other word for her: her pale, silky grey dress clung to her as she moved, her hair curled softly around her shoulders and her eyes shone, radiating love. Her red lips parted as she gazed at him, as if begging for a kiss. For a moment, time stood still, and all he could do was stare at her, caught up by longing. 

He cleared his throat, and hung her coat up next to his. “I have dinner cooking,” he said, more for something to say than anything else. “Linguini with shrimp.” He didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up, even as he led her through to the kitchen.

“I thought you hated shellfish,” she remarked, following him through the doorway. “I was certain you once called them the sewer system of the ocean.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, they’re cooked in a tomato, cream and white wine sauce, so I’m sure I can eat around them. For tonight I’m happy to cater to your unfortunate tastes.”

“Such a romantic,” she snickered, and he winked as he fumbled in the fridge for the white wine he had chilling.

“Careful,” he warned, “Or I could decide to drink this myself and relegate you to one of Bae’s juice boxes.”

“Nah, you won’t do that,” she said. “My drinking is in your interests tonight.”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow as he fiddled with the corkscrew. He poured them each a glass. “And why would that be?”

He crossed the room and handed her glass to her. She eyed him over the rim as she took a sip, her eyes warm and wicked, full of promise.

“Because you know as well as I do that it’s been a month,” she purred. Her free hand slipped up, stroking his silk tie before grasping hold of it firmly and pulling him in. Gold stumbled, at a disadvantage with his wine in one hand and cane in the other. “We’re past the holidays, we’ve done all of that talking, and we’re still _blissfully_ happy. And you know what that means.”

He nodded – he had thought of nothing else for days, unable to get the thought of her out of his mind – and swayed, his whole body drawn to hers. Her eyes were fixed on his mouth, and she licked her lips. He wanted to kiss her, to see if he could taste the wine on her tongue. His breath came quick and shallow, his skin hot and tight, aching for hers. The air seemed to crackle in the small distance between his body and Belle’s, and for a moment the world stood still and hot, their breath the only sound in the silence. He was gratified that she seemed as tense and on-edge as he felt. He felt like he would combust if he couldn’t touch her soon, and the anticipation had him crawling out of his skin.

“I should finish dinner,” he said at last, his voice uncomfortably hoarse. She swallowed, and nodded.

“You should,” she agreed. Her hand hadn’t moved from his tie; her eyes were still set on his mouth. The lightest tug, no more than a suggestion, had him leaning toward her, closing the gap between them. She kissed him like she needed him, her mouth opening eagerly under his. He was right, he thought dizzily: the wine tasted better this way.

Her hand slid up his collar, her fingers slipping into his hair to caress his scalp and hold him in place for her kiss. He moaned at the scratch of her fingernails, a delicious counterpoint to the softness of her mouth.

Finally they parted for breath, and he rested her forehead against hers. Her eyes were still closed. “That pasta’s going to overcook,” he warned.

Belle’s eyes flicked open, and he pulled back a little when he heard her laugh through her nose. “Forget the pasta,” she said. He snorted.

“No, no,” he shook his head, and though it took all his effort he pulled away from her, setting his wine down on the countertop and returning to the neglected onions, half-chopped by the hob. “No, _you_ wanted to do things properly.”

Intrigued, she stepped closer, leaning against the counter beside him and sipping her wine as she watched him work. “And what does ‘properly’ look like here?” she asked.

“A good dinner,” he said, finally finishing chopping and pouring the onions into the pan. They sizzled and spat, the oil probably overheated at this point, and he recoiled his hand quickly. “With roses and candlelight. Conversation.”

He chanced a sideways glance to her, and saw her bright eyes narrow, her smile speculative. She was so clever, his Belle, and she knew him far too well. “Cam…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You said you were making shrimp linguine?”

“I did,” he said, stirring the onions and refusing to look at her. She’d seen right through him, as she always did. Now, she was going to laugh at him, or worse, it would backfire and serve as a reminder of their past failures.

It was too late to go back now: he focused on cooking.

“Which you hate,” she continued. “And so you’ve made it for me all of one other time in the past eight years we’ve known one another.”

“To be fair,” he said, “five of those years you weren’t around for me to cook for.”

“Not the point,” she said, warming to her theme. “Cam… are you by any chance replicating our first date?”

His cheeks tinged pink, his ears growing hot.

“Was I that obvious?” he asked, trying to sound casual. He could feel his heart beating hard and fast beneath his ribs.

“Cam?” He felt her hand on his shoulder, warm and reassuring, and she pulled him around to face her.

“It’s one of my best memories,” he told her, all but pleading with her to understand why he’d made what now seemed like the worst possible decision. “And I know this is supposed to be a fresh start, but our past is important too and that night was beautiful, and-“

“Cam,” she cut him off with a soft finger pressed to his lips, and smiled. “I love it,” she promised. Her eyes searched his, so deep and wonderful he could drown in them. He’d burned their world down once because he’d thought he’d lost this, and he couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten so lucky that they had found their way back to one another but he’d never stop being grateful for it. “I love you.”

He released a shaky breath, relief sending him giddy. “And I love you too,” he said.

“Good,” she kissed him, chaste and sweet, and stroked his cheek. “And I get the added bonus of watching you cook,” she added, her eyes gleaming.

“Not much of interest here,” he said, turning the heat down on the onions. He chopped garlic as she watched, trying not to feel self-conscious as he turned and added it to the pan.

“Not from your perspective, maybe,” she said. “But the view from over here is stunning.”

“Oh?”

“Mm hmm,” she gave an appreciative hum as he bent to get a can of tomatoes from the cupboard.

“Strange girl,” he muttered. Her laughter brought a smile to his face.

He set the sauce and pasta cooking, and set a timer for ten minutes. He leaned back against the counter and took a long sip from his wine glass. She was watching him intently, and he didn’t quite know why, but he rather thought she was undressing him with her eyes. “So,” he said, to break the silence. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” she replied. “I talked to Leroy, and he says his crew can give me a discount on the renovations if we start once the last of the snow melts. Apparently it’ll be dryer in February, it’s too damp in January to do much.”

“That was kind of him,” Gold noted. For a moment he was puzzled as to why the grizzled old repairman would be willing to cut his rates. Then he looked at Belle again, and realised how stupid that question was. She was young, bright, impossibly beautiful, and had a smile for everyone. Of course Leroy would be willing to cut her a deal. He wouldn’t be the first stubborn, disagreeable old man in town to be charmed into submission by Belle’s bright blue eyes.

Belle raised an eyebrow, as if following his thoughts. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.” He shrugged; she rolled her eyes. “I don’t think his generosity was for my benefit,” she explained. “Sister Astrid and I were organising the next month’s library rota when he came in to talk about the building work. I think he was showing off a bit.”

“A nun?” Gold snorted, “Good luck to him then, although I have to question his taste.”

“You know, I never can tell whether your feud with the nuns is genuine or just part of your ‘cartoon baddie’ aesthetic. I mean, who hates on nuns?”

“They’re judgemental, preachy, and believe they’re entitled to favours not offered to lesser mortals by virtue of their vocation,” he sniffed. “Also their Mother Superior is a heartless shrew.”

“Genuine, then,” Belle concluded. “What did the Mother Superior do to you?”

“She wouldn’t let Bae help out on their stand at the Miners Day fair,” Gold said. “Out of spite.”

Belle’s eyes turned cold with anger, and Gold couldn’t help but feel a certain vindication at that. “Heartless shrew it is, then,” she said. He nodded. “But Sister Astrid is nice,” she added, quickly. “She’s been helping out at the library so much over the past few months with very little compensation, and she’s offered to take over full time once the bookshop opens.”

“I’m amazed the Mother Superior could spare her,” Gold remarked. “She’s not known for her leniency.”

“I think Regina might have leaned on her a little,” Belle conceded. “Framed it as a community volunteering project. The nuns have been a little withdrawn from town life of late, it seems. I’m hoping Astrid can take over my place as head librarian once the shop opens, and take over the salary too. I’m sure she could pay it as a donation to the convent if she didn’t feel comfortable keeping it.”

“It’s all coming together, then,” Gold said. Belle nodded, happily.

“With any luck, I should be running my own bookshop by May,” she said. “I can’t believe it!”

“You deserve it, sweetheart,” he said. She pushed away from the counter, and crossed the kitchen to stand in front of him, setting her wine next to his behind him.

“I can’t do it without you,” she said. He gave a half-shrug.

“It’s the least I could do, all things considered.”

“You’re _wonderful_.” She leaned up, her hands on his shoulders, and her lips were inches from his, her breath warm on his mouth and her face so close he could count her eyelashes. His eyes fluttered close, and he breathed in the moment, her closeness and her warmth, her touch on his shoulders and her breasts brushing his chest.

Then the timer beeped, shattering the moment. She jumped back in surprise, and he took a shaky breath, trying to return his heart rate to normal.

“Go take a seat in the dining room, sweetheart,” he said, without looking at her. He heard her move, her heels on the floor as she carried their glasses and the wine bottle through. He took the two minutes it took to plate up their dinner to calm his heart rate, and control his libido. He was a fifty-year-old man and a father, for goodness sakes: he shouldn’t be hardening just by having a woman stand near him, no matter how beautiful she was or how deeply he loved her.

“It smells amazing,” she said, as he carried their dinner through to the dining room, and set her plate down in front of her. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replied, taking his seat beside her at the head of the table. He took a moment just to look at her, to drink her in. Her skin was golden and luminous in the candlelight, her eyes sparkling and her smile soft and warm.

“Keep looking at me like that, and we won’t make it through the meal,” she warned. He heard something uncannily like a growl emanate from his throat.

“Perhaps we should get to eating it, then,” he suggested. “Before I forget that I’m trying to romance you rather than tear your clothes off.”

He enjoyed how she shivered at that, her eyes darkening with desire. He had never been able to fathom why this beautiful, brilliant young woman had chosen him, not then and not now. That insecurity had damned them before, he thought, made him lie to keep her happy, made him doubt her loyalty. He had to trust now that, regardless of her reasons, she had chosen him for _some_ reason, and one that made sense to her. She wanted him; she knew exactly what she was getting. She wasn’t going to pull away, unless he gave her a good reason to. He had no intention of doing so ever again.

“The evening’s young,” she noted, picking up her cutlery and digging into her pasta. “No reason you can’t do both.” She winked at him, and for a moment he forgot his own name.

He turned his focus to his food, trying to focus on eating and not the enchanting woman beside him. She giggled when he picked out the shrimp in his portion. “Don’t tell Bae,” he said. “I’m trying to train him to eat what’s put in front of him.”

“Hypocrite,” she teased. “How will you hold your ground the next time he refuses to eat broccoli?”

“I’ll summon the strength I’m sure,” he replied, dryly. They ate in companionable silence, and aside from the vague taste of the shrimp still lingering in the sauce, Gold had to say it wasn’t half bad. Belle heaped praises on his cookery, but he suspected she had an ulterior motive.

“Are you hoping if you’re nice enough about my culinary skills, I’ll be more willing to cook again in the future?” he asked, when they’d finished and were sipping their wine. He gathered their plates, cutlery and placemats and set them on the kitchen counter to clean up later, before returning to his seat and his love. Her hand slipped into his, resting on the tabletop. Belle looked a little shifty. "Well?"

“You’re gorgeous when you’re cooking,” she defended. He blushed, and knew she’d seen. “Come on! With your shirt rolled up and your hands all dextrous and careful, and then sometimes you bend over to get something and… it’s not that strange!”

“Agree to disagree,” he murmured. She stuck out her tongue, childishly, and he chuckled. He got her started, snickering into her wine as she drained the glass.

“You’re the same way about me reading,” Belle shot back. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. That was how I first knew you liked me: I was reading _Jane Eyre_ in the window seat, and I caught you staring.”

He frowned, trying to remember the incident she was talking about. Clearly it was an important moment to her, but for him it blurred into a series of memories of her reading in the window seat, the armchair, stretched out on the sofa or curled up in bed. They were all treasured memories: Belle reading was a tableau of intelligence and peace, un-self-conscious in the wonder and serenity she found in her books. It was one of the very many things he adored about her.

“See?” she stabbed a finger at him, grinning, “Your face has gone all far-away and dreamy: it’s that exact expression!”

“You’re just so beautiful when you’re reading,” he sighed. “Your brow furrows and you’re completely intent on the page in front of you, lost in the world in your lovely mind. You get so much joy from it, it radiates out.”

“Oh,” she bit her lip, her face flushed, and he frowned.

“What?”

“I just… I don’t know, I suppose I assumed it was some sort of kinky librarian fetish or something. That was… that was far more romantic than I expected.”

He swallowed, and nodded, a little embarrassed. “You did accuse me of romanticism earlier,” he reminded her.

She smiled, “I did. And I was right.”

The moment stretched, long and warm, sipping their wine and enjoying one another, their hands intertwined on the table between them.

“Did you… have anything more in mind for the romantic part of tonight?” she asked, hesitantly. “Four more courses, perhaps, including cheese and dessert?”

“There’s cheesecake chilling in the fridge,” he replied.

“Cheesecake is good,” she said, her lips curving as she caught his intention. “Cheesecake _keeps_.”

“That was my thought, yes,” he agreed.

“Great minds think alike,” she grinned, and leaned over the table corner at the same time as him, meeting in the middle for a slow, deep kiss. “There’s really only one more question, then,” she said when they parted, her lips so close to his that her breath puffed against his mouth.

“Oh?”

“How closely do you want to replicate our first date?” she asked. He swallowed hard, his heart hammering. “Because as I recall,” she continued, her voice a silky purr, doing wonderful things to his insides, “you took my hand, and you pulled me up out of my seat…”

Belle squeezed his hand in hers, and he pulled back from her, doing just that. She rose to her feet, and he came around the corner of the table to stand in front of her. “And then you kissed me,” she continued. “Right here against the table.”

He moved to follow through, kissing her smiling lips and tasting the sauce and the wine in her mouth. She moaned when he cupped her face, angling her so he could slip his tongue into her mouth to dance with her own. Her hands – inevitably – tangled in his hair, while his slipped down to her hips. He remembered all too well what had happened next. He guided her around so that her back was to the table, and with a little encouraging she jumped up onto the surface, wrapping her legs around his hips.

The scratch of her nails against his scalp sent sparks through him, her mouth hot and soft and sweet beneath his own. She was pressed against him, every inch, and he braced himself on one hand while the other roamed her back, holding her as close as he possibly could. He never wanted to be parted from her again. She was a livewire in his arms, every pull of her mouth against his, every brush of her fingertips in his hair, every shift of her body sending electricity through every nerve ending, until Gold felt as if he were set alight.

“Like that?” he breathed, when they parted for air. Belle wrapped her arms around his neck, and rested his forehead against hers. She nodded.

“And then,” she said, continuing her story. “You told me we had two options. We could go upstairs, and do things properly, or…”

“Or we could stay right here, and finish what we’d started,” he finished for her, unable to keep the feral grin from his face. “I remember.”

“Hmmmm,” she hummed. “So the real question is, what have we learned in the intervening seven years? Has the answer changed?”

“There’s a lot I’ve learned in that time,” he said, softly. “I’ve learned that the sweet girl I was infatuated with is actually an impossible, certifiably insane, bloody-minded, brilliant, _beautiful_ woman.” She tugged on his hair in reprimand, but she laughed. “I’ve also learned that I love her, truly, with all my heart,” he continued. “That I wouldn’t change a hair on her lovely head, and that true love endures, no matter what.”

“Amen to that,” she murmured, and kissed him again, passionately. He was breathing hard by the end of it, his mind reeling from the enormity of her. He was painfully hard in his slacks from hours of build-up, of imagining being with her, her body clenching around him and her deep, rich eyes full of love as they were joined.

“What have you learned?” he asked in return. She considered the question.

“I’ve learned that it’s better to share your feelings than bottle them up,” she said. “Because that way lies a nervous breakdown. I’ve learned that the hot older man I had a stupid schoolgirl crush on is actually a ridiculously complicated, anxious, brooding, stubborn hot mess, with a heart full of love enough to fill an ocean.” He couldn’t fault her for the return: he’d done it first after all. He still didn’t know what to say to that. “And that somehow, all that mess just makes me want him even more. I’ve learned that that I love him too,” she added, hugging him with her arms around his shoulders. “With everything I am, come what may;  _forever_.”

He kissed her again, then, and her laughter rumbled through him. She shifted closer to him, so her core was pressed against him through her skirts and his trousers, and they both gasped at the contact.

“But as romantic as all of that was,” she whispered, “it doesn’t answer the question at hand. Upstairs, or right here?”

“There’s one thing that hasn’t changed in the meantime,” he replied. “And that’s that between my bad leg and my… desire for you,” he cast a glance down between his legs, and Belle snorted a soft laugh. “The stairs are going to be a challenge.”

“And here I always thought we consummated our love here because you couldn’t keep your hands off me,” she sighed. He tapped her nose in reproof.

“I think you’ll find that one begets the other, sweetheart,” he returned. She grinned.

“Can’t argue with that,” she conceded. “But this time, we don’t have to worry about the baby monitor,” she added. Her hand slipped down his collar to toy with the knot of his tie. “We can take our time. We can do both.”

He nodded, words failing him. He reached around her side, and took hold of the candlestick, blowing out the flames and pushing it further down the table. “Don’t want to start a house fire,” he murmured, and she nodded, her eyes dancing. Her hand was busy on his tie, loosening the knot and sliding it slowly, sensuously down. Once it was off it was unceremoniously cast aside, and Gold couldn’t find it in him to care. Not when her hands were busy at his throat, undoing the buttons there, spreading her fingers over every inch of bare skin revealed at his neck and over his collarbones.

He kissed her to distract her, while his hand came up her back and found the top of her zipper at the top of her spine, hidden beneath the thick mass of her hair. He pulled it down as smoothly as he could, allowing the silky grey fabric to part and reveal her soft, smooth skin. She shivered and trembled in his arms as he traced down her back with his fingertips. She had gained some weight back in the past two months, the bumps of her spine softer and less pronounced, evidence of healing and recovery. He was so proud of her he could burst.

He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, trailing his mouth up the side of her throat before nibbling on the edge of her jaw. She moaned, her hands grasping at his hair to tug him closer as he worked his way across her cheek to her mouth. He kissed her lightly, butterfly kisses that hinted and teased at more but never satisfied, until she growled in frustration and he chuckled against her mouth.

“Patience,” he murmured. “We have all night.”

“Says the man who two seconds ago told me his hard-on prevented us getting to the bedroom,” Belle scoffed. He nipped her lower lip for her impertinence, and she took the opportunity to kiss him deeply, scorching his mouth with hers as he moaned and submitted to her.

Belle shrugged her shoulders as he worked the sleeves of her dress down her arms, and then, suddenly, her hands were free and the top slipped down. The balconette bra she wore barely covered her nipples, a concoction of pale blue silk and creamy lace that did more to tantalise than to support or cover her breasts. His mouth went dry, his hand coming to cup her breast in his hand, still amazed at how perfect a fit they were together. He squeezed lightly, the soft kneading motion she had always enjoyed, and she whimpered when he pinched her nipple through the silk.

“This one of your Parisian finds?” he asked. She nodded.

“Never worn it before,” she said. “Too pretty and unsupportive for day-to-day. Sort of bra that’s meant to end up on the bedroom floor.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear we were on the same page about tonight,” he replied, and pinched her again, rolling her nipple between his fingers and enjoying the way her thighs trembled and her mouth went slack. “It’s beautiful.”

She nodded. “Noted, now take it off,” she panted. “Please?”

He grinned, and did just that, releasing the clips at the back and trailing his fingers softly down her arms as he removed the straps. It had looked beautiful on her, but the view without it was stunning. He bent his head and drew her nipple into his mouth, biting gently to elicit another of those addictive whimpers. She had always been so very sensitive there, and he exploited that knowledge ruthlessly, lapping and sucking at her until she threw her head back and keened.

She dragged his head away from her breast and hauled him up to kiss him again, finesse forgotten in a mess of lips and teeth. Her hips canted, grinding her centre against him, and he could feel the heat of her through her underwear and his pants.

He braced himself on his good leg and ran both hands up her thighs, drawing her skirt up to bunch around her hips. His fingertips hit a barrier of lace around both legs, and he groaned deep in his throat. She was wearing garters and stockings, and the black lace stocking tops set her creamy skin off to perfection. He looked up at her, stunned, and she winked.

“As I said,” she said, her eyes gleaming, “lingerie that’s supposed to end up on the bedroom floor.”

“Save them for the bedroom, then,” he growled, grabbing her by her hips and drawing her closer, so she was perched on the edge of the table and his hips took most of her weight, he braced himself again on one hand, and hoped his ankle wouldn’t give out before they were done here. There’d be hell to pay tomorrow, but tonight he couldn’t care less. “I have a strong need to roll them off with my teeth.”

Belle whimpered, the temptress façade slipping a little as the idea overtook her, her eyes wide and pupils blown. “I seem to remember that the first time we did this,” she said, her hands working at his belt as her eyes caught and held his, “you could barely speak you were so far gone.”

“The first time we did this, I thought I was going to wake up any moment,” he replied. And indeed, his memories of that night did have a vaguely dreamlike quality. She had been an angel to him then, an impossible being of light and grace who couldn’t really exist, let alone allow him to make love to her. Now, he no longer felt that crushing sense of unworthiness, that he could never live up to what she deserved. They had failed each other, and repaired each other, and here they were, back where they belonged.

His fingers stroked the top of her stocking and the silky skin beneath, trailing upwards in increments until he found the lacy boarder of her knickers. They were tiny, he soon realised, a barely-existent scrap of lace and silk. Easy enough to push aside, and leave the stockings in tact.

“Hold on,” she murmured, and pushed him back to give herself a little room. Gold watched as Belle wriggled her dress down over her hips, and shook her thighs to loosen the fabric until her dress slipped over her shins, and puddled on the floor.

For a second, Gold couldn’t think straight. She was breathtaking, her chest bare, her rosy nipples hard and begging for his mouth, the smooth expanse of her waist and thighs bisected by the lines of her knickers and stockings, accentuating rather than hiding her nakedness. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, barely brushing the tops of her breasts, the curls a little mussed from his hands. But what arrested him was the look of expectation in her eyes, the look that said that she’d thought about this, and selected each piece of her ensemble with care, for maximum impact. She’d done all of this for him, to please him, to make him happy. It took his breath away.

“You like it?” she asked, although the smile on her petal red lips said she already knew the answer.

“You’re stunning, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping close again with shaking hands, not knowing where to touch her first. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, her hands returning to his belt to pull him in, back between her legs so his hands could trace her stocking tops once more. “Now get in me.”

He snorted at the coarseness of the phrase, so at odds with the classical, elegant eroticism she embodied. She laughed with him, her head ducking and her hair slipping forward over her face. He brushed it aside, and cupped her cheek in his hand, tilting her chin up so he could kiss her again. She was a beautiful contradiction, his Belle: she always had been.

She had his belt undone a moment later, and he groaned with relief when she drew his hard length out. She stroked him a few times in her hot, soft palm, and he tried to keep his mind together as pleasure sparked through him. To even the score, he finally slipped his fingers beneath her knickers and stroked his fingertips over her slick, hot folds. He teased between her lips while his thumb circled her clit, and her hand stilled on his cock, her mouth slipping open on a soft cry. She was so wet already he could hardly believe it.

“Been thinking about you all day,” she breathed, when he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “About what you were going to do to me tonight.”

He groaned, his head dropping forward. The thought of her at work at the library, walking around the diner, getting ready for their date, all the while clenching her legs together with desire for him, cheeks flushed and bright mind full of filthy ideas… it was almost too much to bear.

He increased the pressure of his hand against her centre, pressing one finger gently against her entrance until the tip pushed inside and she shuddered all over. She was drenching his hand, her hips bucking against his to increase the speed and friction.

“Please,” she breathed, “I need you, please Cam…”

“I… damn,” he muttered, shaking his head. “The condoms are upstairs.”

Belle grinned, “I had one in my bra,” she said. “It should be on the floor somewhere.”

He stepped away from her for a second to look, and sure enough a small foil square had landed an inch away from her discarded brassiere. He winced at the ache in his ankle as he reached for it, but the pain was nothing compared to the thought of being inside her. She was worth a twinge or two.

He ripped the foil apart as quickly as he could, and sheathed his length in the smooth latex. He returned to his former stance, and her feet tangled once again behind his back, pulling him ever closer to the heaven between her legs. Gold hooked two fingers in her soaked gusset and pulled it aside, revealing her dripping folds to the cool air. She gasped at the sensation, and he remembered how sensitive she was to temperature. The ice cubes in his freezer suddenly featured heavily in his plans for the evening. If she’d been thinking about this all day, dreaming about it, then he was going to do his best to make all her dreams come true.

She had lined them up, pulling him in closer with her ankles against the small of his back, and his mind went blank when the head breached her entrance. They’d done this a thousand times, but he knew he would never get enough of how she trembled and moaned, that long low satisfied sound as he filled her slowly, inch by agonising inch. When he was finally seated inside her she was shaking, and he held her close with his free hand while the other braced his weight against the table.

They moved together, setting up a slow, deep rhythm that had their bodies pressed as close as possible, moving in time as he pulled out and thrust home again. She gasped with every in-stroke, her mouth slack and lips parted with pleasure, her eyes dazed and deep, locked on his. The pleasure deep in his belly tightened and increased with every movement, every thrust building him higher and higher, the moans she was making shooting straight to where they were joined. He wasn’t going to last long, but there was time for long later. Right now, he needed her to meet him on that shuddering peak, and so he reached between them and pinched her throbbing, soaked clit, rolling it between his fingers in the way he knew sent her mad.

Belle yowled and threw back her head, and he attacked her neck with his teeth, sucking and laving across the smooth skin, seeking her sensitive places, anything to increase the sensation. Her channel was clenching around him, her hips bucking madly, as she grew closer and closer, her lips parted and panting his name. She arched her back, supported by his hand between her shoulder blades, and keened.

He craned his neck down, and took one of her nipples into his mouth again, sucking hard and nipping at her. She came with a sharp, hard cry, her whole body tensing as her channel tightened around him like a vice, milking him as he finally let go and followed her over the edge. The pleasure roared through him and burst like fireworks, sending him cross eyed as he groaned and thrust wildly, his cock pulsing inside her as he spilled himself. Her hands were limp on his shoulders, and she slumped forward against him, holding him close as he rode out the most intense orgasm of his life.

Her hands were stroking his hair, and when he came back to himself she was kissing him, his cheeks and his temples, the side of his neck, her lips soft and soothing, easing him down. Her whole body was wrapped around his, every inch of her pressed against him, and Gold never wanted to move again in his life.

Eventually, they disentangled themselves and made their way upstairs, stopping only to extinguish the candles on their way to the bedroom. Gold spent the rest of that wonderful night lost in Belle, in loving her, bringing her over the edge again and again until she was screaming his name. At last, exhausted and sated, they curled up together under the duvet. Gold’s eyes started to close, his whole body limp and heavy with sleep. Belle was spooned up against him, her back to his front, and he adored the sensation of having her so close and unguarded, with nothing left between them to force them apart.

“Belle?” he murmured into the darkness.

“Mm?” she replied, her voice drowsy and soft.

“Promise you’ll still be here in the morning?” he asked, expressing a fear he’d not even known until he said it aloud. She shifted her head around to look up at him, and cupped his face with her hand.

“I’ll always be here,” she said. “I promise.”

“I love you,” he said into her hair, cuddling up behind her and pulling her as close against him as was physically possible. She smelled like cinnamon and winter clove, like sex and warmth and home.

“I love you too,” she replied, slipping into sleep, “Always.”

And sure enough, when he woke up to the morning sun filtering in through the windows, there was Belle, still curled up in his arms and fast asleep, ready to be awoken with a kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a happy ending!


	32. Game of Thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, here it is: the happy ending. I'm so grateful to everyone who's followed along on this story, who's stuck with it through the rough times, and who's standing here now to read its close. After a year of writing and editing, and four and a half months of posting, I'm a kind of sad to see it end. This story was alive in my head for so long, I'm so thankful for everyone who's stuck around to see it close.

_Four months later_

It was amazing what could be accomplished in the space of a few weeks.

Belle looked around the shop, and sighed with satisfaction. Weeks ago, when Leroy had brought her inside and announced – proudly – that the structure was sound again and that the repair work was finished, she had felt sick with disappointment. The mould was gone, yes, and the rotting wood and old flowerpots replaced with new shelves, but it had seemed so… empty, so soulless. It hadn’t helped, she supposed, that it had rained that day as well. April showers had made the whole town seem grey and dull.

Today was bright and beautiful by comparison, a clear May day with light beaming in through the windows and every inch of cherry wood shelving lit golden in the sun. Better yet, every surface and shelf was covered in books, ordered by era and genre. Any free space contained a mug or a vase full of roses from the flourishing garden, a testament to her father’s legacy living on in this house. It was everything Belle had hoped for, everything she had dreamed of since the moment Cam had planted the idea in her mind. She took a deep breath, and released it slowly, unable to keep the smile from her face.

She’d handed the keys to the library over to Sister Astrid that morning, and knew the place was in good hands. Honestly, Belle thought Astrid perhaps a little too eager to take over running the library, a job that would have her away from the convent and the Mother Superior’s strict eye for nine hours a day. Belle had been unsurprised to see Leroy already making his way up the street, as she passed on her way to open Game of Thorns.

She made her way behind the counter, and turned on the ancient cash register. Perhaps it would have made sense to purchase a new, computerised register during the renovation, but Belle had good memories of this one. She’d spent most of her weekends for a decade manning this till while her father worked with the flowers in the back. It was a piece of her childhood, one of the few she had left aside from the building itself and the shop’s name.

There were things it was good to change – she would have been a terrible florist, and the interior had been rotting and falling apart after six months of damp and decay – but some things she refused to get rid of. Game of Thorns remained, regardless of the change in signage and product. As Mulan had pointed out, you could tell from the sign, the window display and the racks of one-dollar used books outside that the place was a bookshop. Belle chose to keep the name. It was a nice testament to her father’s legacy, she thought, such as it was.

The bell rang over the shop door, startling her out of her thoughts. She straightened her neat, professional skirt and ran a hand through her hair, “We’re open!”

“I see that,” a warm voice, as familiar as her own, came from the doorway, and Gold appeared in the light from the street. He looked around the warm, homey little bookshop with an impressed smile. “Wow.”

Belle grinned, pleased. It already felt like an extension of herself, the huge stacks of books and vases of flowers, the sunshine through the windows and the blown-up, professionally retouched pictures from her travels.

“You want the tour?” she asked, her hands clasped behind her back to restrain herself. He inclined his head.

She showed him around slowly, watching as he took everything in. Her mother’s atlas sat in a display case in the corner; the map of the world she’d hung over her childhood bed was spread out over the travel section. Mulan had had the best of their travel photography blown up to print size, and they hung all over the walls, eclectic and cluttered but interesting. The shop was now as far from the abandoned building she had slept in those bitter nights after Moe’s funeral as Belle could imagine, and she couldn’t help but feel that life had been breathed back into the place.

“I see you weren’t wanting for stock after all,” he noted. Belle grinned.

“I think I probably have the finest rare and antiquarian section this side of Boston,” she said. “And that’s down to you. As for the rest… well, once I told Merida what I was doing, she got on to every publisher she knew to introduce me. I don’t know what she said, but the upstairs rooms are full of overflow stock, and there’s more on the way.”

“You told me you had a good intake, I just hadn’t seen it for myself,” Gold gestured around at the shelves. “You have good friends,” Gold said. “You inspire loyalty.”

“Merida’s just very enthusiastic,” Belle shrugged. Gold shook his head.

“There’s something about you, though,” Gold replied. “You bring out the best in people.”

Belle blushed, and slipped her hand into his as she led him out into the garden. No longer the wild, overgrown, frozen den it had been in November, the plants were now flourishing. The lawn was lush and well-kept, the roses in full bloom in every shade of pink and red and white, and everything was green and verdant. In the bright sunshine it was like a little utopia. Belle knew she would never get tired of seeing this, her home restored, her favourite place in the world at last recovered.

Granny and Gold had both donated an eclectic collection of old chairs and tables to create a make-shift café area on the patio, but Belle led him past them and across the grass, to the bench where he’d found her that snowbound day in the dead of winter, when everything lay dead and cold.

“Mr Dove did a wonderful job,” Gold noted. Belle nodded.

“He’s a real green thumb,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked him to stay on. He’s agreed to come by every couple of weeks and tend to the place, although I don’t think he’ll be able to leave the roses that long.”

“First my rare books, then my henchman,” Gold sniffed with mock annoyance, but Belle could see the smile pulling at his lips. “Do you intend to leave any part of my business empire in tact?”

“I’m not sure that anyone other than a cartoon villain should have a henchman to begin with,” Belle replied. “And since my thumbs are about as far from green as its possible to be, a gardener was necessary. As for your business empire,” she leaned in closer, looping her arm around his and cuddling in. “I think it’ll cope. This is your investment, after all.”

He leaned down and kissed her, and she leaned into the kiss, her lips parting to allow him access. His hand cradled the back of her head, holding her in place, and for a long time Belle was content just to kiss him and kiss him, and forget anything else.

Finally, however, she had to pull away. “I should get back to the till,” she said, standing up on the grass. “Can’t be away too long on my first day.”

He blinked up at her, and then let out a short laugh. “I just had the strangest sense of déjà vu,” he said. She grinned.

“Are you here for the rent, Mr Gold?” she asked, her voice high and coquettish in a way it had never been, even as a teenager. He grinned. “I should take you into the back.”

‘The back’ was now just the children’s and travel section, but Gold still laughed as Belle pulled him to his feet, and led him back into the shop. The room was different now, the long table where her father had spent hours arranging bouquets and trimming stems now long since gone, the shelves of flower pots replaced with tall bookshelves. The floor had been cleaned and polished to a shine, the sinks and drains replaced with heavy leather armchairs that were yet more donations from the pawnshop.

“When you found me here eight months ago, did you ever expect this?” she asked. He shook his head.

“I expected you’d be gone within a week,” he told her. “Sell up quick and be on your way. I thought I’d never see you again.”

There was so much pain in his voice, and Belle squeezed his hand in silent comfort. “You didn’t want me to stay,” she reminded him. He shook his head.

“I desperately wanted you to stay,” he said. “I was just too afraid to hope that there could be a happy ending. Too afraid to even admit I wanted one.”

“And yet here we are,” she said, spreading her arms wide.

“Indeed,” he replied, with a soft smile. “Here we are.” He stepped closer to her again, and Belle was a little put off by the intensity in his eyes, the sudden nervousness as he fiddled with the fingers of his free hand. “Belle…”

“Yes, Cam?” she squeezed his hand for reassurance, and he squeezed back. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I… just wanted to ask-“

The bell over the door jangled again, and Belle heard a number of sets of footsteps cross the threshold. “Papa?” Bae’s voice rang out, “Belle?”

“Just a moment, Bae!” Belle called, turning back to face Gold. He shook his head, a smile replacing the nerves from before.

“We should get back out there,” he said. She nodded, unsure but willing to trust him for now. He’d been working hard, these past months that they’d been together, to love her with the honesty and courage he had promised. He still slipped up sometimes – everyone did, and she was far from perfect herself – but seemed to have at last learned his lesson when it came to lies and secrets. It was so good to trust him again, to be able to love him with an open heart, and receive the same in return.

“Hey, Bae!” Belle cried when she entered the front room, and Bae flew across the floor to wrap his arms around her. “How come you’re off school?”

Ruby met her eyes over Bae’s head, “Apparently they’re on break,” she shrugged. “They have a week out of school. Granny offered to take Leo off Mary Margaret’s hands for a bit, but looked like she needed a break from kiddies altogether so we said we’d watch them.”

“Actually,” Mulan corrected, “ _You_ said we’d watch them. _I_ was in the bathroom and so couldn’t veto.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, “Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to,” she said. “The important thing is we’re in charge, and we thought we’d check in. The place looks great!”

Emma was looking around with wide eyes. “You got dragon books?” she asked, abruptly. Belle grinned.

“Whole shelf in the back,” she promised. “Why don’t you go see?”

“Jackpot!” Emma grinned, and ran through to where Belle had pointed, immediately finding the huge stuffed crocodile Belle had filched from the library. It had been her wages that bought it, after all: she didn’t see why it couldn’t come with her. “Bae!” she cried, “Come see!”

Bae looked up at his father as if for permission, and Gold nodded. Bae grinned, and ran through to join his best friend.

“I should probably keep an eye on them,” Ruby muttered, “I have duty of care or Loki parent or something.”

“ _Loco parentis_ ,” Gold corrected. Ruby shrugged.

“Whatever, I’m in charge, and MM will kill me if I lose her kid.”

“It’s not Mrs Nolan you should be worried about,” Gold warned, his teeth pointed and sharp when he smiled. Belle snickered to see Ruby roll her eyes, and pat him on the shoulder.

“Whatever, I’m not scared,” she said. Gold looked affronted, and Ruby snorted. “Come on, you’re like Scrooge at the _end_ of the movie now, you know? You’re all nice and help sick kids and shit.” She passed him and went through to the children’s’ section, and left Gold staring after her with his mouth half-open in shock.

“It’s true,” Belle chimed in, and grinned at his look of horror when he turned to face her. “You paid for Granny’s recuperation, you spent New Year with all of us, and then there’s all of this,” she gestured around her at the shop. “None of this would be here without you. You’re kind of a hero.”

“Take it back,” he demanded. She giggled.

“Nope! Now all you need is a white horse and some gold-plated armour and you can save villages and fight dragons!”

“Ah-ah,” he shook his head, catching her by the waist and leering, “You have that wrong, sweetheart. I _am_ the dragon.”

“If you’re going to flirt, could you wait until you’re alone?” Mulan interjected, looking up from the book she’d been perusing. “I’m trying my best not to hear but I’m worried you’re about to have sex right there on the counter.”

“Sorry,” Belle looked at her feet, a blush rising in her cheeks. Mulan smiled, and shook her head.

“No worries, it’s cute,” she shrugged, and gave Gold a meaningful look. She came closer, and Gold let go of Belle, tactfully going to join the others.

Mulan wrapped her arms around Belle’s shoulders, and hugged her tight. “I’m so proud of you, Belles,” she said. “You’ve come so far, it’s incredible.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Belle replied, her voice thick. She couldn’t imagine her life without Mulan, what she would have done if Mulan hadn’t shown up when she did. “You saved my life back there, more than once.”

“What’re best friends for?” Mulan said, squeezing Belle tight before moving back, her hands on Belle’s shoulders. “You’re here for good, then?” she asked.

“I have a family here,” Belle shrugged. “And all of this. Can’t leave this place now, can I?”

“Belle French, settled down,” Mulan shook her head, “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“It’s time,” Belle smiled, enjoying the firm sense of certainty that accompanied those words. She glanced back, and through the doorway caught a glimpse of Gold sat in that armchair with Bae in his lap, a book between them. Her heart caught, and the knowledge that they were hers and that she was theirs warmed her through. “I’m ready now.”

“Good,” Mulan said. “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to be moving somewhere that didn’t have my best friend.”

“Moving?” Belle asked. Mulan grinned, and nodded.

“Granny doesn’t really need an extra waitress anymore, so I started looking around. Turns out the fitness centre needed someone to teach their martial arts programme. They’ve given me full control over the curriculum, class times, everything. I think they were just amazed to find anyone qualified. With a little time and work, I should be able to get a proper dojo up and running. Figure there’s worse places to start a life.”

“So you’re staying?” Belle asked, unable to believe it. “You’re settling here?”

“Like you said,” Mulan gave a half-shrug. “It’s time. I think I’m ready too. At least…” her eyes drifted to where Belle’s had just been, and Belle looked around to see Ruby crouched next to Emma, an atlas spread out between them. “I hope I am.”

“You love her, don’t you?” Belle grinned, happier for her two friends than she could believe. “You really meant it.”

“Of course I do,” Mulan replied, like it wasn’t even in question. “You love _him_. I knew it the moment I saw you two together, regardless of how much of a dick he was or how messed up you were. That’s the kind of love that doesn’t go away, even if it kills you. So I’m glad you worked it out. You guys belong together.”

“So am I,” Belle smiled. “But I’m just as glad to have you here, you know. We belong together too, and Ruby, and Granny. You’re my family as much as he is.”

Mulan’s eyes, to Belle’s surprise, went a little misty. “Yes,” she nodded, fiercely. “Yes we are.”

They hugged again, so tight Belle thought her ribs might crack. She had no idea where she’d be without Mulan, but she knew it wouldn’t be here.

They went back to join everyone else, and soon after Mulan and Ruby needed to go back to the diner with the children. They said their goodbyes, and promised a celebratory dinner at Granny’s that evening.

Gold lingered a little after they’d left. “Don’t you need to be getting to the pawnshop?” Belle asked. He pursed his lips.

“It can wait a moment longer,” he said. “Belle…”

“What were you going to ask me earlier?” she asked, before he could lose his nerve again. “You were going to ask me something.”

“I… yes,” he nodded, swallowing hard. “I thought with today being a day of new beginnings, it would be a good time to discuss the future.”

“Oh?” Belle’s heart was hammering in her throat. He couldn’t be about to ask what she thought, was he? If he was, she didn’t know if she was ready to hear it, even after all this time. She hoped she was. There was only one way to find out.

“Yes, I… was wondering whether…” he took a deep breath, and shook his head, gathering his thoughts. “Whether you would like to move in with me,” he said, chancing a look into her eyes. “I was wondering whether when you came over tonight, you’d like to bring your things and move in.”

Belle let out a gusty breath, laughing with relief. “Yes,” she said, the words out of her mouth without even needing to think. “Yes, I would love to.”

“Wonderful,” he beamed, and she opened her arms to him, hugging him tight. She kissed him softly as they parted, both of them beaming ear-to-ear. “I’ll meet you after work, then?”

“And we can walk home,” she grinned; she was so happy she could burst. “ _Our_ home.”

“Yes,” he nodded, and kissed her hand, as if he couldn’t bear to let go of her. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” she nodded. He left quickly, as if the urge to stay was too strong to draw it out.

Belle leaned back against the counter, and folded her arms over her chest, her mind spinning. She had been almost certain he was going to propose. Five years ago, when he’d asked that question it had been the end. She hadn’t been ready for the commitment, the sacrifice, for all that that little silver ring had entailed.

Now, she looked down at her bare left hand, and smiled. They were almost there, and the thought now filled her with a steady, contented kind of excitement. When he asked her, when he was ready to, then she would say yes.

She took a deep breath, and pushed herself off the counter, sitting herself on the little stool she’d placed behind the till. The bell rang over the door a moment later, and she heard a voice she didn’t recognise: a customer.

Game of Thorns was open for business.


End file.
